


Road to Recovery

by Dash



Series: Recoveries [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 71,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dash/pseuds/Dash
Summary: After Sam’s miracle cure from the Lucifer induced hallucinations, he works on recovering from his sleeping and eating issues. Dean also tries to recover from his own illness brought on by the stress of Sam’s breakdown.   And, because they are truly hunters and never feel completely off the clock or that they are entitled to simply sit around and do nothing, help a friend of a friend with her ghost problem.Takes place immediately after 7.17 The Born-Again Identity and before 7.18 Party On, Garth.
Series: Recoveries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918603
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: As a true H/C fan, I was disappointed by how the show totally glossed over what Sam was dealing with for weeks/months because of his hallucinations. This story covers the approximately 3 weeks between the two episodes and what the guys did to recover.
> 
> Also, I think it’s pretty clear that Dean is over … everything and almost suicidal in most of Season 7, from him telling Bobby that he will drive himself and Sam off a pier if Bobby is really dead, to Ellen’s message from the Great Beyond, to his excess drinking, and depression after Bobby’s death. Throw in the emotional roller coaster of Sam’s death for a year, coming back soulless, etc. … I think Dean has had it. I think Sam is also struggling mentally, because who wouldn’t, and on his last mental legs. I’ve always been bothered by Sam basically quitting … everything that made him Sam after Dean disappeared at the end of Season 7. I think he all but had a mental breakdown and was Done, too … simply unable to power through any more … anything. I think he just wanted to disappear, which is what he did. This story shows those feelings and both men starting to see how they are both ready for a change and how much they need a real break. 
> 
> Also, if you truly despise Original Characters, you can skip Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, Dr. Susan Gray is primarily in those two chapters. You’ll miss a chunk of the recovery story, but you’ll get the gist of what happened if you insist on starting at Chapter 3.
> 
> 9/10/20: Just updating to create a series for another story in this now series.

In the beginning … 

Franklin, TN June 1981

She had no reason to pay attention to the RV newly parked in her neighbor’s empty lot. The Breck family had lots of relatives, over 10 acres of land, and it wasn’t at all unusual for a camper to appear one day and stay for a while, especially in the summer. And, as she reflected later, in all honesty, given how tired and numb she was, she’s not sure she would have noticed if an alien mother ship had landed next door. As it was, she felt that she was doing enough by getting out of bed every day, putting one foot in front of the other, and not succumbing to the almost overwhelming urge to curl into a sobbing ball on the floor in her daughters’ room. They had been savagely killed by a bear attack the month before during a camping trip with their father. He had survived after being found in time and rushed to a hospital with serious wounds. Home from Vanderbilt’s hospital for about two weeks, they both counted themselves lucky, even if that word rang hollow in the dark hours of the night, that he seemed to be healing, physically at least, quickly. 

Pulling into the driveway of their modest home, she took a deep breath to center herself and shut off the car’s engine. She sat for a long moment, listening to the peaceful quiet of the evening through the half open car window, trying to will herself to move. It was getting dark, a full moon was rising over the tree line helping to illuminate the lawn, and she dreaded going into the quiet house, even at this late hour. The doctor’s office was open until 9:00pm on Wednesdays and she had volunteered to work the late shift to make up for the time she had missed during the previous weeks. She and her husband had barely spoken since he got home and the air was tense with unspoken blame, guilt, anger, and crushing sadness. Work at the office where she was a doctor had become a welcome escape. Focusing on the previously happy eight years of marriage and not the unbearable last month, she opened the door and stepped into the semi-darkness, forcing a smile on her face. Her smile quickly dropped as she rounded the corner of the house and saw the large utility shed’s side door open, light spilling into the yard. Jake had barely been able to walk around the house when she left this morning and the idea of him making his way across the back lawn to the shed filled her stomach with dread. There was nothing in there that he would have needed and no reason to go that far from the house or porch. 

“Jake?” she called, walking toward the open door. “Everything OK, honey?” Peering into the metal structure, she felt her heart settle slightly when she saw that it was empty and nothing out of place. Scanning the empty yard, she saw nothing stirring in the bright moonlight. A second after her mind registered the sudden silence, a rustling and low growl came from her left and the patch of woods at the edge of their property. Clutching her bag tightly, she hurried quickly toward the back porch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of motion from the woods and heard and saw something large running straight at her. Screaming, she turned and darted back into the utility shed, slamming the door and throwing the door’s lock a second before something large hit the door. The metal shook with the impact but held. 

Backing away from the door, she glanced at the small, closed window high on the side. From outside, she could hear something scratching at the dirt and bumping the metal. Dragging a step stool from under the work counter, she used it to hoist herself up, peering out the window. Opening it slightly, she tried to see into the darkness. 

“Jake! Help!” she screamed again, hoping to see a light come on in the darkened house. She screamed again, jerking back and almost falling, as whatever was outside banged into the metal wall just below the high window. She stared at the metal as sounds of nails – claws – scrapped against the outside. A second later, she screamed again as something hit the small window, almost breaking the glass. Slamming the window shut, she locked it just as something hit the glass again, shattering it. Jumping down, she stared as a claw swiped through the opening trying to find her. Unable to resist giving in to her terror, she stood in the middle of the floor and screamed loudly, letting the terror pour out of her. Her voice caught a moment later and she froze as the thing outside answered her scream by giving a long howl of its own. 

The attack on the metal walls began a second later with the creature throwing itself against the wall under the window and then starting to dig at the foundation itself. Screaming again, she backed away, looking frantically around her for a weapon. Snatching up a shovel, she forced herself to take long deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth … just like they taught patients to do to help calm a panic attack or manage pain. She could see the dirt starting to shift slightly at the base of the wall as the creature dug faster through the hard packed dirt and gravel. Moving toward the thinning area, she held the shovel aloft and, when a claw briefly appeared through the debris, brought it down swiftly. The answering howl from the creature told her she had made contact. 

Running feet from the other side of the utility shed caused her to spin toward that side, crying out, “Watch out! There’s something on the other side! Be careful!”

The feet ran past the door and she followed the noise with her eyes as they rounded the corner. Dropping the shovel, she jumped back up on the step stool, looking into the moonlit back yard. “Be careful! There’s something out there!” she screamed as she saw a figure of a man standing in the middle of her yard, scanning the area.

“I know,” the man said in a slightly out of breath voice. “Stay where you are and don’t come out until I come for you.”

She screamed and cried, “There! By the corner of the house!” as she saw another figure crouching low, trying to blend into the bushes. “My husband is inside the house! You have to stop it!” She screamed again as the crouching figure growled again, launching itself at the man. Falling off the stool, she screamed again as someone fired, the creature howled and then was silent. She stared at the door, giving a half scream and scrambling backwards as someone knocked on it.

“You can come out now,” the man said. “It’s OK.” 

She saw the handle turn slightly before hitting the resistance of the lock and stepped away from the door in case it was suddenly kicked in.

The man knocked again, “It’s OK, I promise. I won’t hurt you. You can come out now.”

Picking up the fallen shovel, she slowly walked toward the door. Hand hovering over the lock she said, “Who are you? What’s going on?”

“My name is Roy Cabbit. My wife, son, and I are staying next door with the Brecks. They’re family friends.” He sighed and shuffled slightly, “And as for what’s going on … it might be easier to show you then tell you.”

She adjusted the shovel and slowly unlocked the door, jumping back, shovel at the ready, waiting for him to charge into the utility shed and hurt her. A long moment later, when the door didn’t open, she slowly opened it herself, peering outside. She saw a man, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket standing about 15 feet away from the door.

Holding his arms out from his sides, he smiled, “It’s OK. I promise … not here to hurt you.”

“What’s going on,” she asked again, slowly stepping outside. Two steps out of the utility shed, she saw a shape crumbled on the ground and cried out, “Jake!” Dropping the shovel, she stepped toward her husband and froze. The shape was her husband but also wasn’t. There was something seriously wrong with his face, hands, and bare feet. In the moonlight, she stared and then screamed slightly, stepping back as something shift and his fingers began to appear from what had previously appeared to be claws.

“I’m sorry,” Roy said softly, coming up behind her. “I had to kill him before he killed you and others.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the figure on the ground, slowly shifting and changing back into the 36 year old man she had known for almost half her life. “What’s going on?” she repeated in a soft voice.

Reaching out, Roy took her by the arm and slowly pulled her toward him. “Come back to the camper with me. My wife is there with our son and we’ll talk. I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on in your area and what happened to your husband.” He had been through this before and knew that people in her condition usually came with him willingly, too shocked to put up much resistance. His wife was great in these situations, able to talk them through what they had seen and what they were now learning about. That would free him up to come back and clean up the mess. Once poor Jake Gray was back to normal and they had agreed upon a story, he’d call the authorities and start the cover up. He had deliberately made it a temple shot, knowing that the police wouldn’t look too closely at the tragic suicide of a young father whose five year-old twin daughters had been killed a month prior. 

Half walking, half stumbling, she made her way across the field with Roy at her side toward his camper. The lights were on and, as they got closer, she saw someone at the window. 

Roy raised a hand in a wave and said, “My wife, Tracy.”

She nodded, still too stunned to speak. 

As they got closer, the camper door opened and a young woman held out her hand. “Come on in, I know you have questions and I have at least some answers; I promise.” 

Stumbling up the steps, she entered the small, clean room and took a deep breath. The air smelled like apples and spice and it immediately felt like a home. “Thank you,” she said, sinking down on the sofa the other woman pointed toward. 

Tracy sat down next to her and picked up her hand. “My name is Tracy Cabbit. Roy is my husband.”

“Susan Gray,” she said automatically and then started to cry. 

OOooOOooOO

Three days later, Susan shyly knocked on the camper door. She was carrying a covered pie and suddenly wished she hadn’t come. It suddenly seemed stupid to bring a pie to the people who had totally uprooted her world and killed her husband. Just as she was about to flee back home, the door open.

Tracy gave her a ragged smile, “Susan! Hi! Come on in, if you dare. I warn you, Roy Jr. isn’t feeling well and has had us up half the night. We thought just teething but now he’s rubbing his ear and won’t eat.”

Stepping the space, she smiled, holding out the pie. “Well, maybe I can help. I’m a doctor, you know.”

OOooOOooOO

And so, it began. Slowly, in fits and starts, and then, as word spread, more hunter families. Kids, at first, who needed immunizations and records for school and parents who couldn’t risk questioning authorities and then serving as the primary doctor when a child needed hospitalization for a normal childhood accident when the family was visiting from ‘out of town’. Then, later, for adults who needed the normal sort of medical records and primary care physician info for forms that most people in the late 20th and then into the 21st centuries have and not always under their own names. She officially released medical records under a false name – but one that matched the offered insurance card - 4 years after her husband’s death to help a hunter who was recovering from a bad run in with a vampire. Within a decade, she was serving as the unofficial country wide go to person for needed medical records. Everything was stored under real names but could be sent to any school or hospital the hunter needed, under whatever name and address they wanted. She also helped organize the official, unofficial web of doctors and nurses who performed similar services across the country. Kids and adults alike, taking care of everything from routine immunization and annual physicals to gunshot wounds and ghoul attacks. While the hunter community was typically self-sufficient, not everything could be treated in a home or a hotel bathroom and despite their lifestyle, they all wanted to keep their children healthy.

Looking back, Susan couldn’t remember exactly when she met John Winchester and his sons. She knows that Sam was young and she made sure he and Dean had all their needed childhood immunizations. And she knows that she set Dean’s arm sometime later after he broke it falling out of tree in North Carolina during a hunt. He was about 12 at the time and she had been worried because the break had been near a growth plate but, after monitoring it for a year, she had been happy to see it didn’t cause any permanent damage. Short of that, the Winchester Family were like many hunter families that came and went in her life and she kept loose tabs on. She had been sad to hear of John’s death from the community grapevine and sent the boys her sympathies. They had stopped by not long afterwards because Sam had broken his arm fighting a zombie and needed it set and put into a cast. She had initially thought they were kidding but both swore they were telling the truth. They had sat around her kitchen table – in the same modest house she had lived in all these years – and talked long into the night about mutual friends and catching up on community news. Like many of the children she had helped, the boys had become men before her eyes and helped fill in some of the holes left by the death of her daughters and husband so many years before.


	2. Chapter Two

Franklin, TN January 2012

Susan Gray stretched her back slightly, twisting from side to side at her desk in her office before raising her arms up above her head and arching her back. Hearing it give a series of small pops, she smiled and rolled her shoulders. Mondays were always a long day but she had still made the first yoga class at the studio near the doctor’s office and at 66, still considered herself in great shape. She had received a school request overnight to her private, hunters only email and wanted to get that paperwork sent off. She also had a follow up to do on another hunter who had been hospitalized last week after a run in with ‘a bear’. He had been discharged two days before and she wanted to check in on him. He was up in Maine, so an hour ahead of her, and she hoped to catch him around 7:00am central time. 

She had just completed the conversation – the Maine hunter was doing great, no problems - when her private cell phone rang. Swiping the answer button, she said, “Doctor Gray.”

“Hey Doc,” a casual voice on the phone said, “it’s Dean Winchester. How are you?”

She smiled, “Dean Winchester! I’m good and it’s good to hear from you. How are you and Sam doing? It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen you both. No more fairy kidnappings, I hope.” Her brain began to send out warning flashes when the pause stretched for more than a few seconds. “What’s going on, Dean?” she asked. “I can’t help until you talk to me.”

The man on the other line coughed and sniffled slightly before sighing and saying, “Sam isn’t doing well, Doc, and I need your help, please.”

“Of course, tell me what you need,” she said calmly, reaching for a pen and pad of paper to take notes.

Dean paused again before finally saying, “Sam’s had a rough time of it lately …”

“I heard some talk about a big show down 18 months or so ago,” she said in a cautious voice when he didn’t continue. “Then some scuttlebutt about him not being 100% but I thought that talk had died down. Last I heard, you boys were fighting these new leviathan monsters that everyone seems to be talking about now.”

He gave another small cough before saying, “Yeah and things were going OK but last month or so, he really started to …” His voice trailed off again for a long moment before he continued in a flat tone, “I wasn’t really sure what was going on but about five, maybe six weeks ago, he stopped eating much, major sleep problems to the point where he just stopped sleeping all together, and then last week he was hit by a car and ended up in a locked psych ward because of hallucinations and hearing voices.”

Susan sighed at the news, “Is he really hallucinating and hearing voices or is this just the authorities?” It was a valid question and they both knew it. She had been called in many times as a ‘personal physician’ to reassure various authorities that patients were receiving treatment for their delusions about monsters and should be released into the care of their personal doctor and ‘family’. It was just one of her many duties to the community.

Dean chuckled slightly, “Good question and he was but I found a cure and he’s fine now, sort of. It was some sort of witch’s spell, hex thing, thanks to a coven we were dealing with in early December.” He paused for a second and then added, “You have no idea how much I hate witches.” The lie came forth easily and matched what he and Sam had agreed upon as the official story the night before when it was clear that whatever Cas did had, in fact, transferred the Lucifer induced madness from the hunter to the angel. Meg had worked some of her own magic to haze the memories of the staff, allowing them to slide Cas into Sam’s patient spot with no questions. “But I think the hex really knocked something out of him,” he continued. “We’re not too far from you and I was hoping …” his voice trailed off again for a moment as he coughed again. “I was hoping you could help. Check him out, make sure that he’s OK.”

“Sounds like you could you use a bit of help too,” she said evenly. “How long have you had that cough?”

He gave another small chuckle, “Oh, it’s fine. I’m more concerned about Sam right now.”

Susan made another note on the pad in front of her, asking, “When should I expect you boys?”

“We’re just north of Indianapolis now, so at least six hours.”

“Don’t worry about a hotel when you get here,” she said. “You can stay in the guest cottage at my place. Do you still have the address for the clinic?” As she spoke, she pulled up her appointment calendar, studying it. 

Dean coughed again before saying, “Yes, have it right here with your number.”

“Good, I’m going to move a few things around and will be there any time after 4:00, so no need to rush or speed. I swear, I think car accidents take out more hunters than the boogie man … so drive carefully.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean said with another small laugh. “See you soon, Doc, and thanks.”

Pressing the end button, she put down her cell phone and stared into space for a moment, mentally thinking back to the rumors and gossip she had heard over the years about the Winchester Boys and what her own experience with them had shown her. She picked up the phone again, quickly texting the two nurses who helped at the clinic, explaining that they had two private patients, their code for hunters, coming in that evening and she’d appreciate their help. That chore done, she switched to her official communication channels and notified the front desk staff of her afternoon schedule adjustments. 

Dean disconnected the phone, taking a deep breath and immediately triggering a harsh, raspy cough. It was cold in the car but he had wanted to make the call in private, not wanting to risk Sam waking up. The younger man hadn’t fallen asleep until after 5:00 that morning and needed all the sleep he could get. It had been just over 24 hours since he had walked out of the hospital for the final time, leaving Cas in his place and Meg interviewing that morning for a staff position. They both had been going full ahead since. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the cold window and hoped the coolness would ease the almost constant headache. 

“Dean?”

Jerking awake at the sound of Sam’s voice, he saw the other man standing in the door of their hotel room. A quick glance at his phone showed he had been asleep for a whole 10 minutes and his body ached as he straightened up and got out of the car. “How are you feeling?” he asked, walking the few steps to the room. “Let’s go back in, it’s freezing out here.”

“What were you doing out in the car,” Sam asked, ignoring the question as they stepped back into the room. 

Dean looked at him for a long moment before deciding not to push for an answer, knowing there were bigger battles ahead, and said, “I was calling Dr. Gray. We’re not that far from Franklin and we need to get you checked out.”

The other man looked at him and then down at the floor. “We’ve already lost so much time because of me…” he started in a quiet voice. “We shouldn’t lose any more. There’s too much to look into, figure out what Dick is up to with the research center … see if we can find Frank ...”

“Well, it’s not really up for discussion and she’s expecting us later today,” he said with a shrug, cutting off his brother. “Do you want to try to eat something?”

Sam visible blanched and instinctively touched his stomach, “Probably not a good idea.”

“And that’s why we’re going to see her. You weren’t much eating … before …” he said, struggling to find some words other than ‘you had your mental break down’ and failing. “Before and you’ve thrown up twice since you got out of the nut house and you’re barely keeping down even water. That’s not even touching the whole lack of sleep thing. Clearly, Cas was able to work some sort of magic mo-jo but all is not right in Sammyland right now.”

The other man gave a small chuckle and shook his head, “Sammyland …”

Dean smiled, “Yeah, it’s like the wussy version of Disneyland but with all salads and organic apples, instead of real food. Kids go there when …” His breath caught in his throat and he gave a harsh, long cough that cut off the rest of his words.

“I’m clearly not the only one who is off their game,” Sam said dryly. “When did that start?”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand in his brother’s direction. Reaching over, he cracked open a bottle of water from the small table by the window and took a long swig. “Just needed some water.” 

“Uh huh,” the other man said. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling himself sway slightly before opening his eyes again. Turning, he moved back to the beds and sat down on the far one. He took another couple of breaths before giving a small laugh, “We are totally on our A Game here, both of us.” Feet still on the floor, he laid back on the bed and covered his face with an arm with a sigh.

Coming over, Dean sat heavily on the other bed and gave another small cough. “At least we’re moving, sort of,” he said quietly. Then, nudging his brother’s foot with his own said, “Get your feet out of my space.”

“Stop kicking,” Sam said, moving his foot slightly. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The car ride felt much longer than the normal six hours and they hit the start of rush hour traffic going through Nashville. When they finally exited off the interstate and wound their way on side streets and back roads just outside the small Tennessee town of Franklin, Dean was ready to drop from exhaustion. His head pounded, he knew he was running a fever, and his chest was tight with hundreds of suppressed coughs. They had stopped for soup, coffee, and gas once and then again, 20 minutes later along the side of the road for Sam to throw up the few bites of soup he had attempted. 

“Where are we?” Sam asked, blinking awake. He had fallen asleep, curled up slightly, back against the door before they got into Nashville.

“Probably 10 minutes from the clinic,” Dean said.

Looking around the growing twilight, Sam straightened up in his seat. “Sorry for falling asleep, I should have kept you company. You’re as beat as I am.”

Dean glanced him and rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve been fully occupied reading all the billboards that say I’m going to hell unless I accept Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior.” He glanced at his brother and smiled crookedly, “Too bad I didn’t think about that earlier. Or maybe had you ask Lucifer personally and gotten the true downlow.”

“Not funny,” Sam said dryly. Taking several deep breaths, he yawned again.

“But I am glad you got some more sleep,” Dean said, glancing at his brother.

Sam nodded, “Yeah.” And then added quietly, “The car, the noise … it helps.”

“With what?”

Sam sighed and shrugged, “Just everything … it’s safe, the noise makes it not too quiet in my head, it’s not the Impala but still … it’s us, our life, sleeping in the car, home. Normal and real.” He glanced away, looking out at the passing scenery of small businesses and the occasional house sitting at the end of a long driveway.

Not knowing what to say to that, Dean stayed silent for a long moment, letting the road and engine noise fill the space. And then, reaching out, he patted his brother’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and gently shake before saying, “Yeah, real and normal, just remember that.” 

“There it is,” Sam said a moment later, pointing to a large white ranch house on their left. A discreet sign below the mailbox was simply labeled ‘Clinic’, with the Rod of Asclepius superimposed over the Goddess Diana’s bow and quiver.

Dean felt a bit of tension leave his shoulders as he made the easy turn onto the driveway and drove toward the parking pad in front of the three car garage. Cutting the engine a moment later, he closed his eyes for a second and tried to take a deep breath. The movement triggered a harsh coughing fit that left him momentarily breathless. 

“Water?” Sam asked, holding out the bottle Dean had been sipping on since they stopped for gas several hours before. 

He nodded and took the bottle, unable to speak and coughed again. “Just ... dry, you know. The heat in the car…”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, looking at his brother. “And they say I’m the crazy one. At least I know I’m sick.”

“I’m not sick,” he protested, taking a sip of water. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

Sam smiled, “Yeah, you did. Good job.”

Dean huffed, opening the car door with as much energy as he could manage and gave a wane smile as he saw Susan Gray step out onto the porch, walking toward them. “Doc! Good to see you!”

Coming down the three side steps that separated the porch from the parking pad, Susan smiled at them. “Boys, so good to see you both again. It’s been too long.” She studied them and inwardly felt herself cringe at their appearance. Both were clearly sick and in rough shape. Knowing how badly the hunter community reacted to worry and sympathy, she forced herself to push all that aside and focus on getting them inside. 

“We appreciate you meeting us here,” Dean said, coming over to her. 

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” she said, reaching out and briefly resting the back of her hand on his forehead and then cheek. “You’re running a nice fever there, kid,” she said, giving him a hug and feeling him relax slightly and hug her back. “I’m glad you’re here now,” she added softly. “It’ll be OK.”

He nodded and pulled away, coughing again.

“Hey Doc,” Sam said, slowly coming around the side of the car.

“Hi Sam,” she said, meeting him halfway and giving him a quick once over before she hugged him. “I was sorry you didn’t come with Dean after his run in last year with the fairies. Who would have ever guessed that ET and Tinkerbell were the same thing?” She laughed slightly and shook her head before adding, “But, I’m glad to see you now, even if I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling slightly. “Me too.”

She smiled at him, “Let’s get you both inside and figure out what’s going on.”

Swiveling her chair slightly toward them, she nodded and said, “Sam, let’s start with you since I think I need Dean here for some of your story. One of you tell me what’s going on, when it started, the last 24 hours, something.” Picking up a pen, she jotted Sam’s name and date at the top, patiently waiting for one of them to speak. Years of practice told her that people tended to respond better when they didn’t have to make direct eye contact and could just talk.

Dean glanced at Sam, nodding for him to begin.

The younger man sighed and said, “I guess it started a little over a month ago. We took care of a witch that was causing problems just outside of Kansas City the first part of December and, I guess, pissed off her coven in the process and they hexed me. We didn’t find that out until later, though. Not long after we left, I started having problems sleeping and then problems eating.”

“And by problems,” Dean said, interrupting, “he means he wasn’t really doing much, of either.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah and then I started seeing things, hearing voices, one voice really ….” His voice trailed off as he remembered Lucifer’s taunting. 

“And what did the voices or voice, I guess, say to you?” Susan asked casually, glancing up from her notes.

Sam laughed softly, trying to make light of the situation and not touch on the true torment, “Nothing in particular, nothing bad exactly, but he sang … a lot and badly. Stairway to Heaven is a great song the first few times … after 400 times, it starts to lose something.”

“OK then,” she said with a small smile and shake of her head. “How did you deal with that?”

Glancing down at his hands, Sam shrugged, “I don’t know. I just … tried to ignore him the best I could.”

“This was about three weeks ago,” Dean said, picking up the story. “Lots of coffee during the day, almost no food or at least not much that would stay down, sleeping pills once, but that did more harm than good.”

Sam nodded, remembering the nightmare of being exhausted and Lucifer singing at the top of his lungs and drifting off enough to let his guard down. That gave the vision enough power to really crank up the hallucinations. He shuddered, closing his eyes.

“Fast forward to last week or so,” Dean said, coughing again, “and he gets hit by car and locked up. In the meantime, I figure out the timing, tear everything apart, and finally find the hex bag. It took me another three days to find the right spell to break it. The voices and visions stopped immediately. That was this past Saturday, so like two days ago.” 

Susan glanced up again, “And so we’re looking at a month plus with limited sleep?” Her voice was easy and nonjudgmental, no surprise or shock in what she was hearing. When they nodded, she smiled, “OK. When did eating really become a problem? A couple of weeks ago or earlier?”

Sam shrugged and yawned, “I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly.”

“I’d say within the first week,” Dean said. “It was gradual though, until things really got bad the last couple of weeks before stopping almost totally by the time he was hit by the car.”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, remembering trying to eat in the hospital and the hallucinations that accompanied each mealtime. Involuntarily, he felt his stomach clench at the vision of maggots and worms crawling through his food. 

“And even though the voices and hallucinations have stopped, you’re still not able to eat?” Susan asked, glancing up again. 

Sam shook his head. 

When it was clear his brother wasn’t going to add anything, Dean spoke up again. “He can eat but it doesn’t stay down. He’s thrown up at least three times in the last day and a half. He’s barely keeping anything down … a bit of water but that’s about it.”

“Just so I’m clear,” she said, “is it that you can’t eat or is it that you can physically eat but are nauseous and nothing stays down?”

Dean glanced at his brother, waiting for an answer. “Sammy…” he said softly after a long moment, nudging the other man with his foot. “What do you think?”

“Nauseous,” he finally said. “My stomach starts hurting as soon as I start to eat something. Water is sometimes OK, same with some juice. But …” he paused again, his mind going back to the food hallucinations Lucifer brought on and his stomach twisted again. “I don’t know,” he said softly.

“OK, clearly that can’t continue,” she said firmly, sensing she was pushing him to his limit and deciding it didn’t matter at this moment. Clicking her pen closed, seemingly unworried and totally sure of the situation, she smiled at them both. “I appreciate the information and think I have enough to go on for right now.” She smiled at him, “No worries, Sam, I don’t think it’s permanent and think we can easily treat you.” Standing up, she briefly touched his shoulder as she opened the door and motioned for her nurse. “Let’s get you settled. Bonnie is going show you to Exam Room 1. Go ahead and undress for me, down to your underwear. There’s a robe on the table you can put on. There’s also a bathroom connected to the room, if you can, try to get me a urine sample. If you can’t, that’s fine too.”

Sam blushed slightly as he stood up and nodded to the middle age nurse they had met before settling into the office. “OK,” he said with a slight smile.

“I’m going to chat with Dean for a minute about his Not Very Serious Cough and then I’ll be in to see you,” she said,

He nodded again and, glancing quickly at Dean, quietly followed the nurse out of the room.

Shutting the door again, Susan turned to her other patient. “So, how long have you had this cough and fever?”

Dean shrugged, “I don’t know exactly.”

“I feel safe in guessing it’s more than a day or two,” she said, looking at him. When he didn’t correct her, she nodded, not surprised. Going over to a cabinet, she pulled out an electronic thermometer and, after giving it quick swipe with an anti-bacterial wipe, turned it on and walked back toward him. “Open,” she said firmly, holding it out.

Sighing, he reluctantly opened his mouth. 

“You know the drill, under your tongue please and close your mouth.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled as he obeyed. He could feel the deep weight of exhaustion settling over him like a blanket and wanted to do nothing more than close his eyes and sleep. Sam was safe, for the time being, and he was exhausted. The beep caused him to jerk slightly.

Pulling the thermometer free, she frowned. “And that’s a nice fever. I’m getting a reading of 102.6.” She gave him a small smile, “No wonder you’re feeling lousy. And I bet you haven’t been sleeping or eating much either for the last couple of weeks?”

He gave her a small smile and shrug, “Well, things have been hectic with Sam and all….”

She nodded, “I know and I get it.” Sitting back down in her chair, she rolled closer to him and looked at him steadily. “I know you’re worried about him but I’m honestly more worried about you. You’re clearly sick and these kinds of illnesses can go south, quickly. If you don’t have pneumonia yet, I bet you’re not far from it.”

“Yeah,” he said with another shrug. “I’ve been trying some over the counter stuff and it was helping but the last couple of days …” He paused, coughing again and tried to take a deep breath, which caught in his throat and caused him to cough again. “Just ….” he started, waving a hand in the general direction of where Sam was, and then allowed his voice to trail off.

“I know,” she said softly, patting him on the knee. “But he’s fine and we’ll get you both on your feet again.” Pushing back, she stood up. “Come on, you’re both checking in here for a couple of days and then we’ll take it from there.”

Standing up slowly, Dean shook his head, “Honestly, Doc, I don’t know that’s necessary. Maybe just write me a prescription and I’ll check into a hotel and just sleep it off.”

“Do I tell you how to kill thingamabobs?” she asked with a smile. Not waiting for an answer, she opened the office door and ushered him out into the waiting room. 

Bonnie was sitting at the small front desk, several folders stacked in front of her. Glancing up at the sound of the door opening, she smiled and stood up. “Sam is ready in 1.”

“Great, thank you,” Susan said. “Dean is also going to be staying with us for a couple of days.” Turning to him, she said, “I think you’ll feel better with a shower, plus it might help with your fever. And I’m going to get Bonnie to give you some acetaminophen, which will help even more. We’ll get you something to change into and then, when you’re ready, come into Exam Room 2 and let me check you out.” She glanced at her nurse, “Let’s go ahead and give him a full 650mg of acetaminophen and then we’ll talk after the exam.”

Dean felt a joke or quick come back forming in his mind about her checking him out but was simply too tired to do more than nod. “Thanks,” he said softly, “for everything.”

“Of course,” she said, gently bumping him with her shoulder. “You know I can’t resist hunters.”

He chucked and tried to take a deep breath, once again cut off by a harsh cough. Turning to Bonnie he smiled and bowed slightly, “After you.”

She smiled back at him, “Oh yeah, I bet you’re a charmer when you’re on your game.” She had happily been an active part of the hunter community her whole life, including marrying a man who was also hunter. But her attitude and priorities quickly changed after their daughter was born. By their daughter’s 5th birthday, she had graduated from nursing school and laid down the law with her husband about his own ‘career’ choice. Her own career change was much more successful than that ultimatum, but when he was killed eight years ago, she still mourned. Now, at 50, she took great pride in being a wonderful nurse to both the local community at the office and with all their private patients. 

The clinic was set up in a fully renovated ranch style home, designed to fit into the area and be bland enough not to draw attention to itself from the neighbors beyond the property’s three acres or the cars on the road. It boasted three private bedrooms, all with their own baths, and a larger 2-person room, also with a bath, all down a side wing mostly hidden from the road so that the house still appeared small and unassuming. Dean briefly glanced at the larger room before following Bonnie further down the hall toward a smaller, private bedroom. “Sam and I don’t mind sharing, if you’d rather,” he said, pausing in the doorway.

She smiled at him, “It’s better if you each have your own room, different sleep schedules and it makes it easier for us, since we’re in and out often.” Going to a built in cabinet, she pulled out a set of towels and a washcloth and held them out in his direction. “Bathroom is through that door. If you put your clothes in the hamper or just leave them folded on the bed, I’ll make sure everything is washed tonight. There are clean sleep pants and t-shirts in the dresser and toiletries in the bathroom.”

Taking the towels from her, he walked over and put them down on the bed before sitting down on a chair nearby. He closed his eyes for a second and tried to take a deep breath before it turned into a hard cough. “Thanks,” he said when the coughing fit passed. 

“Do you need help?” she asked kindly. When he shook his head, she smiled. “OK, then. I’ll be back in about 10 minutes and I expect to hear the shower going. I’m also going to get you something to help with that fever.”

He nodded, bending slightly to toe off his shoes. The idea of standing suddenly seem to take more energy than he had at the moment. He could sense her still standing in the doorway and gritting his teeth slightly, forced himself to stand and shrug off his jacket and over shirt. Glancing up, he smiled, “Thanks,” he said again. 

Bonnie nodded and pulled the door closed, leaving him in peace. 

Carefully folding his clothes, he left them on the bed and padded over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of simple cotton pants and a short sleeve t-shirt to change into after his shower. A moment later, he turned on the water in the large shower and stepped inside and closed his eyes again, letting the water sooth his aching muscles. The water pressure was good and the adjustable shower head helped avoid getting his hair too wet as he leaned against the wall for support, feeling himself relax in the heat. 

Knocking on the closed door, Susan paused for a moment before hearing Sam’s voice telling her to come in. He was sitting on the edge of the paper covered table and looked even more tired than earlier, the white robe making the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more against his pale skin. 

“How’s Dean?”

She nodded, “Sick but he’ll be OK. I told him that he’s going to be staying with us, like you, for a couple of days while we get things back in order.”

Sam smiled slightly, “I’m sure he was thrilled to hear that. Did he tell you to just write a prescription for some extra strength something or another and he’d sleep it off at the local hotel?”

Laughing, she nodded, “Just about.” Moving closer to him, she turned slightly more serious and said, “So, Sam … anything private, just between me and you, that you want to add to the earlier story? Bad things the voices were telling you to do or you were seeing? Bad thoughts you were having or harmful or bad things you were thinking about doing to yourself or other people? Illegal or quasi-illegal drugs maybe? Really sketchy herbs?”

He blushed and glanced down at his hands and shook his head before giving a small shrug, “Not really.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” she asked, keeping her tone firm but nonjudgmental. When he didn’t continue, she reached out and touched his shoulder, adding, “I promise, Sam, nothing you tell me will be shocking, make me mad, or leave this room. It’s just between us. But I need to know the truth so I can treat you properly.”

Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, “The night I was hit by the car, a guy I found on the street told me he had something that would really help me sleep. I was desperate by this time, you know?”

She nodded, “I’m sure you were. That’s totally understandable.”

He shrugged, studying the floor, “So I took it.”

“And what was it? Do you know?”

He shook his head, still not looking at her. 

“OK,” she said evenly. “Pills or something you smoked or shot-up?” Mentally she crossed her fingers that the younger man hadn’t been exposed to used needles and that potential nightmare of problems.

“Pills … two of them. They were white.” 

Inwardly sighing in relief, she nodded, “OK, I’m sure it’s fine after this long. I’ll just double check everything after we draw some blood.” Looking at him closely, she asked softly, “Did you ever think about hurting yourself?”

Sam shook his head, “No, not really … but that probably wasn’t too far away. I was just so … tired.”

Susan nodded, “I’m sure you were and that alone can cause us to not think straight.” Keeping her voice calm, she asked, “Did you actually plan out how to hurt yourself or …?” She let her voice trail off, hoping he would fill in the silence.

“No, didn’t even get that far,” he said honestly and gave her a small smile and laughed. “I was so out of it by that point, I was having enough trouble tracking basic conversations, much less any multi-step kill myself action plan.”

She smiled, “Well, that’s a positive at least. Anything else you want to share or think you should share?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think so.” Then, thinking better of it, he laughed softly and gave her another small smile, deeply grateful for the lack of judgement of his actions. “Well, I probably had close to illegal amounts of coffee and we were on a job when things were really getting bad and I did get a triple shot of some coffee drink and the barista did tell me that should be illegal. But yeah, just that one time right at the end. The rest of the time, I just tried to power through on my own … until it was just so bad ...” His voice trailed off as he felt tears start to form in his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he resumed his study of the floor, unable to look at her.

“It’s OK, Sam. It’s going to be OK,” she said quietly, hugging him tightly and waiting to see if he would say anything else. After a long moment, she smiled, “Let’s get started then and just see what’s going on.”

Sam squirmed slightly on the table as Susan gently pressed on his abdomen and sides, moving slowly down and across the entire area. He blushed as she pushed the band of his boxers down slightly, stopping just below his hip bones. 

“Good,” she said, smiling at him and pulling the robe over him. “I’m not feeling any lumps or anything that would indicate any sort of blockage or problem. You’re running a bit of a fever and your blood pressure is lower than I’d like and you’re clearly dehydrated but I think that’s all just par for the course right now. Everything else is looking good and we’ll get your blood work back tomorrow morning, but I’m not expecting any surprises.” 

Carefully sitting up, Sam suddenly swayed on the table, grabbing the edge as the room twisted. He felt his stomach lurch and he groaned slightly, hunching over. 

Grabbing an emesis bowl, she held it out, “It’s OK, Sam. I’ve got you and I’ve got a basin right here if you need to throw up.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through his mouth before shuddering and nodding, “It’s OK now. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, kid,” she said with a smile. Studying him for a long moment, she slowly withdrew her hands and put down the bowl. 

He swayed again as soon as she let go but caught himself a second later and forced his eyes open. 

“Whoa,” she said softly, “I’ve got you.” Holding him steady for another long moment before slowly releasing him. “Better?”

He nodded, “Yeah, sorry. I guess I sat up too quickly.”

“Don’t apologize, we’re going to get you to bed in about 10 more minutes,” she said. “But first, let me tell you what we’re going to do.” When he nodded, she smiled again. “Nice and simple for the most part, I promise. We’re going to start an IV to see about getting some fluids and electrolytes back in balance. Then, I’m going to give you some stuff to help you relax, get some sleep, and also help with the nausea. After you’ve gotten some sleep and, after the anti-nausea drugs have had a bit of time to work their way into your system, we’re going to start you off with something to drink. I think the eating problems and the nausea are just being caused by your system being out of whack, medically speaking. Not sleeping, not being able to relax is just adding to the problem and making everything worse.” 

He laughed and nodded. “So not eating sort of made me forget how to.”

She wiggled her head slightly and nodded, “Or at least made your stomach forget that it enjoys food and then the constant nausea and throwing up has probably irritated things. I think it’s also making it hard for you to sleep, which is causing your body more stress and it’s a vicious cycle. We’ll start slow, work on keeping you hydrated and electrolytes back in balance. If the drink stays down, we’ll try something with a bit more substance sometime tomorrow. Nice and easy, no pressure or stress.” She paused, looking at him, “If it all goes to plan, you should be out of here probably Wednesday afternoon or Thursday, but that doesn’t mean back in that car and on the road hunting again. This is going to put you out for about four weeks.”

“Weeks!” he gasped. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“And if you push it,” she said, ignoring him, “it will be closer to six, so give yourself the time, take care of yourself and you’ll be up and running around soon enough.” She looked firmly at him, “It’s winter, it’s flu season, you really don’t need to be catching anything. This will be a nice break for both of you because, trust me, Dean doesn’t need to be running around either for a few weeks, no matter what he says. You can start fresh in a few weeks or a month and in much better health, not borderline, just waiting to get sick.”

Sam nodded slowly, letting her words sink in before saying, “OK. I get it.”

“Good because I’ll be really pissed if all my hard work putting you boys back together goes to waste and you end up back here in a few weeks, sicker.” She smiled, “You might think I’m nice but I can be a grouchy old woman when pushed by stubborn hunters.”

Sam laughed, “Yes ma’am.”

Susan nodded, “Good answer. Now, sit here for a minute while I see where Bonnie is and how your brother is coming along.”

“How’s it going?” Bonnie called, opening the bathroom door of Dean’s room a crack.

“Good, thank you,” Dean said, suddenly aware of how much time had probably passed. Unwrapping the bar of soap, he began to quickly wash, suddenly anxious to check on Sam. He got dressed as quickly as possible and opened the door before hanging up his towels.

Bonnie was in the bedroom waiting for him. She smiled, “Feel a little better maybe?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, great water pressure.”

She laughed, “Yes. This whole wing was built onto the original house about 10 years ago when Doctor Gray saw the need for more than just traditional doctor’s office work. We have probably five or so patients a month stay at least overnight with us. You’ll meet Allison, the other nurse who helps, tomorrow.” Motioning toward a small paper cup with two pills on the bed table with a large cup of water, she said, “Go ahead and take those while I check and see if she’s ready for you.”

Picking up the cup of water, he took a swig and then quickly downed the two pills and another sip of water before putting it back on the table. The cool liquid felt good on his throat and he closed his eyes again. The headache had started to disappear in the shower but he could once again feel it tightening at the base of his skull. Moving slowly, he sank back into the chair by the bed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the head rest. 

“Dean …”

He was dimly aware of a soft voice calling him and he slowly forced his eyes to open. The memory of where he was came rushing back and he jerked, panic setting in as he realized he had fallen asleep without checking on his brother, without making sure he was OK first. “Where’s Sam? Is everything OK?” He could feel his breath coming out in gasps and he cough again, hunching over as he tried to push up from the chair.

“It’s fine, kid, calm down,” Susan said firmly, placing her hand flat on his chest and pushing him back gently into the chair. “Sam is fine; Bonnie is with him now, helping him get settled. He’s fine.”

Sinking back, he nodded and felt his chest tighten as he held back another cough. “Sorry,” he said a moment later. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just sat down to wait for you and …” His voice trailed off as he closed his eyes again.

“It’s fine Dean, I promise,” she said again. “You’ve only been asleep for about 20 minutes. Sam is fine, you’re fine.” She studied him for a minute and then said, “Nod for me so I know you’re understanding me, please.”

He nodded and took a small breath.

“Good, thank you.” She watched him breathe shallowly through his mouth for another long moment before standing slowly up. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

Eyes still closed, Dean nodded slightly again.

Stepping back into the hall, she motioned for Bonnie. Sam’s bed was empty but she could see the bathroom door partly open and could hear the faint sounds of the shower running.

The nurse glanced at the bathroom door and then moved into the hall. “What can I help with? Sam will probably be out in 10 or so minutes, he insisted on taking a shower but I told him it had to be quick. He looked ready to drop so I also made him leave the bathroom door opened a bit, in case he needed help.”

“Will you please keep an eye on Dean, too? I don’t want to move him and there’s no need. I’m just going to get my stuff and examine him in his room,” Susan said. “He’s beat and I’d rather get him into bed and get some fluids and antibiotics in him sooner rather than later.” 

“Of course,” the other woman said with a nod. “I have the IV set up for him already and pulled a regular saline bag when I pulled a banana bag for Sam.” She nodded toward the small closet near the headboard. “It’s all set up, ready to roll out when you’re ready.”

Susan smiled, “Thank you, that’s perfect. I’ll be right back then.”

Bonnie gave a small laugh, “Take your time. I told Sam about the anti-nausea suppository you prescribed and gave him the option of me giving it to him or him taking care of it himself after his shower. He clearly picked Option 2 but it will probably take him a minute to work up the courage when he’s done with his shower.”

The doctor gave a rueful smile, “Probably.” Turning, she headed back down the bedroom hall and into the regular clinic space for her supplies. Returning a few moments later carrying her bag, she glanced into the two rooms. “Thanks.”

She nodded, “Of course. Let me know if you need help with Dean. Otherwise, I’ll knock after I get Sam set up.” Watching the doctor return to the other bedroom, she stepped back into the other bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything OK, Sam?” The shower was still running but shut off quickly with her question.

“Yeah, fine, thank you,” he said.

“Good but let me know if you need anything.” It was always such a delicate balance with patients and hunters, an extremely independent and headstrong group, were twice as bad. Sitting on the edge of the turned down bed, she waited for either an alarming noise from the bathroom or for him to reappear.

Susan stepped inside Dean’s room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Pulling a stool over from under a counter by the door, she sat down in front of him. He was sleep and she hated to wake him up again but knew she needed to. Reaching out, she touched his hand, “Dean, I need you to wake up for me for a few minutes.”

He slowly opened his eyes and nodded. “Sorry,” he said, sitting up slightly and trying to take a deep breath. “How’s Sam?”

“He’s fine,” she said evenly. Pulling her stethoscope from her jacket pocket, she hung it around her neck for easy access. “I need to listen to your lungs for a minute and then we’re going to get you into bed and start an IV with fluids and antibiotics.” When he nodded again, she continued, “I need you to sit up so I have better access. OK?” She could tell he was fading fast and wanted to move quickly. 

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and then seemed to gather himself before opening them again and giving her a small smile. Sitting up straighter, he nodded, “I’m good. Are you sure you don’t need to help Sam?”

“Bonnie is with San and he’s fine,” she repeated. Putting the eartips into her ears, she said, “Just breath normally for me.” Pushing up his t-shirt, she listened to several places along each side. “Take a deep breath for me, please. Good and another one please.” She could feel him shaking slightly under her hands and nodded before releasing his shirt and gently pushing him back into the chair. “Sounds about as good as I was expecting,” she said with a smile, deciding the rest of the exam could wait.

He laughed slightly, “I do love that humor, Doc.” 

Susan smiled, “At my age, I’ll take what I can get.” She stood up and pulled down the sheets and blankets from the bed. “Let’s get you settled.”

With her help and standing up slowly, Dean took the three steps to the bed and sat down gratefully. The head had been elevated and it suddenly felt very good to be laying down. “Where’s Sam?” he asked, closing his eyes. 

She pulled up the sheets and settled the blanket over him. “He’s right next door.”

Dean nodded, “OK, good.”

“Close your eyes for me, you’re done for a while,” she said evenly. “We’re going to get you started on some antibiotics and a bit of oxygen just so you’re not working so hard.” She was deliberately keeping her voice low and calm, helping to lull him to sleep, her hands resting on his. Glancing at the clock for her notes, she slowly backed away and walked into the hall. Unlocking the drug cabinet, she quickly pulled the needed antibiotic for him and began jotting down notes in his file.

A minute later Bonnie walked quietly out of Sam’s room. She nodded in that direction, “IV is started and he’s almost asleep.”

“Good, thank you.” Motioning toward the pulled drug, she said, “I’ll go in and check on him, if you want to get Dean’s IV started. Let’s also add a bit of oxygen support for tonight, at least. I want him resting and not working to breath so hard.”

She nodded, “Sounds good. Oh and, for when you go into Sam’s room … he wanted the tv left on for noise, that’s why it’s playing the time and temp channel.” 

“O-K,” Susan said slowly. “Whatever works for him is fine with us.”

Bonnie smiled, “That’s what I figured. And the music is sort of peaceful, I guess. My daughter sleeps with a fan going year round for the white noise, so to each their own.” She glanced at the clock and saw it was after 6:00. “First one done makes us some cappuccinos?” she asked with a smile. Sitting down for a few minutes after a hectic schedule to catch a breather and compare notes was one of their normal routines when treating private patients.

The doctor nodded, “Deal.” Closing the file and vowing to finish both sets of notes tonight, she walked softly into Sam’s room. The younger man was curled up on his side and his eyes were closed. The windows outside were dark but the soft glow from the lights mounted above the headboard and tv gave her enough light to see him by. His breathing was shallow and even and she carefully backed out of the room to avoid waking him. 

Susan had the drinks waiting when Bonnie stepped into the kitchen. Pushing one toward her friend, she said, “How’s Dean?”

Taking a sip after washing and drying her hands, she said, “Asleep, I’m sure. He protested the oxygen a bit but not much, I think more to save face or something. You know hunters. The IV went in smoothly, first try, and he was pretty much out by the time I left.” She sat down at the counter and pulled a pad of paper and pen near her. “If you’re good with taking the first shift, I’ll run to the grocery store to stock up on what we need here. I got a text from Allison and she said she’d be here around 6:00 tomorrow morning.”

The other woman nodded and glanced at the clock. “Sounds good, I appreciate you taking care of that for me. When you get back, you can lay down for a bit and relieve me around 1:00am, 1:30am. I’ve got plenty to do with files.” She took another sip of her drink and added, “I don’t have a good feel on how these two will act through the night and if they’ll sleep straight through or not.”

“No, I don’t either,” Bonnie agreed. “Oh, and I’ll do their laundry tonight.”

Susan smiled, “If you want.” She knew the other woman did want to and considered it a small, easy thing to do for their private patients, making things just tad easier in a life that was often filled with enough challenges. Taking another sip, she sighed and rolled her shoulders a bit. “Did you do anything fun this past weekend?” she asked, wanting a small break from work and a few minutes with a friend to just chat.

Sitting at the desk outside the two occupied patient rooms, Susan kept an ear out for any movement and worked on files. She had updated both Winchesters’ files from her stack and then started on others. The normal mundane office stuff that, at her doctor’s office, a full time office person handled for her. Here, she or two of the nurses took care of the details and sent out reminders of upcoming immunizations for kids, tetanus shots for adults, follow ups on past treatments, and the like, during the night shifts. A light flipped on in Sam’s room and she went in to find him sitting up.

“Oh,” he said, glancing up at her from his position at the side of the bed. “Hi, Doc.” Glancing at the closed bathroom door and back to her, he said, “Ummm … I need to get up for a minute. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

She smiled, “No, I was just outside at the hall. Let me unplug the IV and you can roll it into the bathroom with you. Other than that, how are you feeling?”

“OK, I guess,” he said, glancing at the tv and the time. “I think it’s the longest stretch of sleep I’ve had in a while. Where’s Dean?”

“He’s right next door in another bedroom, fast asleep,” she said. “While you’re in the bathroom, I’m going to get you something to drink. If I’m not back, go ahead and sit in the chair for me instead of the bed. I think it’ll be easier in case you start feeling sick again.”

Sam nodded and slowly walked into the bathroom.

“Just take a sip at a time,” Susan said after he was sitting in the chair next to the bed five minutes later. “No rush, just a nice steady pace.” Handing him the glass filled with a thick chocolate drink, she leaned against the nightstand next to him, ready to help if he needed it, and smiled, “While you’re drinking, let me fill you in on the gossip I’ve heard lately.”

He smiled and laughed. Looking at the drink, he took a breath and tried to calm his stomach. Swallowing hard, he willed himself to raise the glass and found his hand shaking slightly.

Reaching out, she touched his shoulder, “It’s OK, Sam. Just a sip and see how it goes. There’s no rush.”

“Yeah and after what you prescribed to stop me from being sick, I better take advantage,” he said, glancing at her and shaking his head. “That wasn’t a nice surprise.”

She laughed softly, “Well, I hate to break it to you, kid, but you have one or two more doses in your future, depending on how tonight and tomorrow go. I really don’t want you throwing up again and upsetting your stomach and throat more. There are fewer side effects that route than if we put it straight into you IV, so it’s what we’re going with.”

“Great,” he said drying. Summing up his courage and trying not to think of what could be hiding in the thick liquid, he took a sip and said, “So, fill me in what news you’ve heard lately.” 

“Good boy,” she said. “Have you heard of Reelfoot Lake?” Talking slowly, quietly, encouraging him every now and then to drink, she watched him relax, lulled by the soft tv music and her voice. 

Sam smiled slightly as he put the empty glass on the table 15 minutes later and said, “While it’s not the best thing I’ve ever had, I feel OK.” His stomach was aching slightly but he didn’t actually feel sick. “How’s Dean really doing? When I asked him, he just told me not to worry, which is all he ever says.”

She smiled looking at him. She had moved over to the rolling stool and now sat across from him, making it easier to talk, “He’s actually OK. We’re giving him some antibiotics and a couple other drugs to start clearing up his cough and I think he’ll be better by tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday. I’m glad he insisted on bringing you because that got him here, as well. Otherwise, it could have gotten serious, quickly.” Nodding and standing up, she said, “I want you to sit up for about 10 more minutes and then I’ll help you back into bed.” Picking up the glass, she went back into the hall. A quick glance into Dean’s room confirmed the other man was still asleep.

Less than an hour later, she was relaxing with a book when a cry and then harsh coughing from Dean’s room made her stand up and hurry in. He was half awake and struggling with the blankets and tubing. Turning on a dim evening light, she grasped his hands. “Dean, it’s OK. You’re OK.”  
“Where’s Sam,” he asked, eyes darting around the room. “I need … Where?”

“It’s OK,” she repeated, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him and putting a hand on his chest. “Sam is fine, he’s sleeping in the next room.” She paused for a moment, letting her words start to sink in, “You’re at the clinic in Franklin because you’re sick. Sam is sick too, but he’s getting better and is asleep now. I was with him just a little while ago and he had something to drink without throwing up.” She could see him slowly coming fully awake and blinking. “Close your mouth for me and breath through your nose. We’re giving you a bit of oxygen to help with your breathing.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and did as he was told before opening them again and looking at her. Giving her an embarrassed smile, he shifted, “Sorry about that, Doc, I guess I got confused when I woke up.” 

Susan smiled at him, patting his hand, “Nothing to apologize for at all. I was just out in the hall.” She studied him for a moment and was glad to see he looked slightly less exhausted and that the sleep had been good for him. “It’s just after 11:00, you’ve been asleep for about five hours.” 

He yawned, which quickly turned into cough, making him hunch slightly. “Wow, no wonder I feel better.”

Privately, she wondered about his definition of ‘better’ and knew that if it was at all in line with other hunters she knew, then the bar could be very low. “Good, I’m glad. How do you feel about eating something? Bonnie makes excellent chicken noodle soup and you haven’t had dinner.”

“I guess,” he said, closing his eyes briefly before remembering his well-drilled in manners. “Thank you, that sounds good.”

“I’m going to unplug your IV from the wall so you can go to the bathroom easily while I go get your dinner.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Watching her do that and then walk into the hall with the promise to be back shortly, he carefully stood up and pulled off the oxygen tubing from under his nose. The sense that something was wrong with Sam and he wasn’t being told grew with every passing second. He trusted Dr. Gray, had known her much of his life but the stillness and quiet darkness of the clinic filled him with dread even as another part of his mind told him he was being stupid. Pushing the IV stand in front of him, wishing he could simply remove the thing, he quietly made his way across the room and peered into the hall. It was dim but the light over a desk area gave him plenty of light to see the other partially closed bedroom door next to his. Pushing it open, he immediately recognized the sounds of his brother’s low, even breathing and felt instant relief. The soft music coming from the tv masked the sounds of him walking in and sitting down in the chair. He knew he shouldn’t have come in, shouldn’t have risked waking Sam but the need to see his brother was too strong. He leaned his head back and relaxed for a moment, watching his brother sleep peacefully.

Sam shifted in bed, rolling onto his back and trying hard not to catch the IV tubing on anything. His stomach wasn’t upset exactly but it also ached and he felt slightly queasy. It suddenly reminded him of the time several years ago when, after a particularly hard case, he and Dean had sat drinking together long into the night. There had been no hotel nearby and they had ended up parking near a lake and a boathouse, with its bathrooms and easily picked lock. It had been peaceful and the stars were out in full force and they simply sat outside on the dock in the early fall, chatted easily about other trips and hunts and enjoyed multiple beers. He had woken up the next morning, not sick exactly but not 100% either. Now, glancing over, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Dean sitting there. 

The other man grimaced as their eyes met. “Shit, I’m sorry, Sammy, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, leaning forward.

“No, you didn’t, I was awake,” he said. He slowly sat up, swinging his feet off the bed and letting them rest lightly on the floor. “How are you feeling? How are you honestly feeling,” he corrected with a smile.

Dean chuckled softly, “Probably about as good as you, dude.” The chuckle turned into a cough that left him momentarily breathless. When he met his brother’s eyes again, he gave an embarrassed shrug, “Dry air and all.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, shaking his head. “That’s OK, my stomach is thinking about revolting just because of this disgusting goop Dr. Gray made me drink. Other than that, I’m gold.” He waved a hand at the IV stand, “Pure decoration.”

“I figured as much, given that it’s basically yellow and all,” Dean said with a small laugh. “I personally prefer the classic clear look myself.” He glanced between the two different IVs, adding, “Clearly the doc understands that you are secretly a girl, since you got the pretty version. She likes you better.”

Sam snorted, “I wouldn’t say that, man.” He shook his head, and then turned slightly more serious, swinging his foot in his brother’s direction, trying to lightly kick him, “Seriously though, how are you? She said you were sick and it could have gone south fast and then you would have been in big trouble. Breathing is kind of important.”

He shrugged dismissively, “No more than eating and sleeping.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw the stupidity of that statement and laughed at Sam’s expression. “OK, maybe slightly more important but still. We have enough on our plate with your drama and issues. No need to stress over a little cough.”

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam said with a smile. There was only so much he could push and now wasn’t the time or the place. “Where do you want to go when we’re out of here?” he asked. “Maybe…”

“Let’s not worry about that now,” Susan interrupted firmly, stepping into the room and looking between them. “This isn’t your room,” she said, wagging her finger at Dean and smiling slightly. “Visiting hours don’t start until it’s at least light outside.”

Sam laughed, “Busted.”

“And you are supposed to be sleeping,” she added, giving Sam a small glare. 

He held up his hands, “At least I’m still in bed and not out roaming around.”

Dean glared at him, standing up slowly, “And that’s the thanks I get for trying to bring a little bit of joy and laughter to the sick.” He smiled and walked over to Sam. Placing his head on his younger brother’s head for a moment, he shook it slight, “Night, bitch.”

Reaching up, Sam caught his hand and squeezed it for a moment, “Sleep well, jerk.”

Susan watched him slowly walk out of the room and turned to Sam. “Everything OK?”

He nodded and smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good,” she said, and then waved slightly toward the bed. “Then back under the covers, please. Close your eyes and get some more sleep, like a good boy.” Coming over, she checked his IV before looking at him expectantly. 

Pulling his feet up, he laughed slightly, “Yes, ma’am.” The truth was that he was tired and the brief spurt of energy he got feeding off Dean was rapidly fading. Allowing her to straighten the blankets, he closed his eyes and felt himself relax.

She smiled, “Good night, Sam.”

“Hey, Doc, I’m sorry,” Dean started when Susan appeared in his doorway. He was standing by the bedside table, looking at a covered bowl he assumed contained the promised soup. “I didn’t mean to wake him up. I just went in to make sure was OK and everything.”

She smiled and walked over. “It’s fine, you didn’t hurt anything. I know you care about him and you’ve both been worried about each other. If your midnight visit makes it easier for everyone to get back to sleep, great!”

He nodded, looking slightly relieved and less embarrassed. “I worry about the kid,” he said with a shrug.

“And he worries about you,” she repeated. Nodding to the chair, she said, “Sit down and before you eat, I want to see how your fever is doing before I give you more acetaminophen. Pulling a thermometer from a drawer in the cabinet, she walked over to him. “Open up for me.”

Taking it in his mouth, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, shocked at how tired he was suddenly feeling. 

“Well, it’s down slightly,” she said after the thermometer beeped, “but just slightly.” Pulling the tray over, she uncovered the soup. “Have some of this while I go get you more drugs.”

He gave her a tired smile, “Hopefully some of the good stuff.” Picking up the spoon, he stirred the broth and said, “Looks good.”

“It tastes even better. And yes, really good stuff, the best, in fact - acetaminophen and antibiotics, universal life savers.” 

OOooOOooOO

Looking up from her seat at the hall desk, Susan smiled as she saw the light in the front kitchen go on, telling her that Bonnie was up. She stretched as she stood up, tired after a long day and night. Picking up her water glass, she made her way down the hall and into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said, putting the glass in the dishwasher.

The nurse smiled, “Your bed is calling, I can hear it.” Sliding a pad over toward her, she picked up a pen, ready to take her notes.

“Very much so, yes!” the other woman agreed, glancing at the clock. It was just after 1:00am and she was happy to think she could get a good 5 hours of sleep in before the day started again. “Before I go though, let’s see … I changed Sam’s IV bag about 30 minutes ago but Dean’s still had a bit. It’s probably done now. Let’s start a new bag to make sure he gets the full dose of antibiotics. The extra fluids aren’t going to hurt him, not with the little he’s eating or drinking. We’ll give him another dose in the morning so let’s keep the IV in. The same with Sam but just fluids this time. I also gave Dean another 650mg of acetaminophen around midnight because of his fever – still over 102.”

“I see you got one of them to eat some soup,” Bonnie said, nodding toward the small bowl in the sink.

Susan smiled, “Dean and he agreed it was excellent. And Sam did manage to keep a drink down, so I’m counting that as a double success.”

Bonnie laughed, “For sure. How was the rest of the night?”

Sam was laying on his side again, half asleep, but dimly aware of the light coming through the blinds. His mind drifted to many mornings as a kid, jogging through the early dawn hours with Dean, doing the miles John required of them before school every day, whether their father was home to supervise or not. Now, as an adult, he often was just stumbling in at dawn with Dean, equally tired but satisfied after a good night’s work. They would sleep for a few hours before getting up and enjoying lunch before starting it all over again. He jerked fully awake as he heard footsteps in his room and rolled over suddenly. The movement making the muscles in his stomach tense and he grimaced. 

“Good morning,” Bonnie said quietly. “Sorry for waking you but I need to check your temperature and IV and, I’m sorry to say, that Dr. Gray prescribed another suppository for you this morning before you try to eat something.” She smiled, “I’m assuming you want to deal with it yourself?”

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. She was a nurse, he was sick, it wasn’t weird or embarrassing but he would also have to be pretty much unconscious before he’d allow her to do that.

She smiled and nodded, “I understand. Let’s do some stuff first while you’re still in bed and then I’ll leave in you in peace.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling himself blush slightly. “How’s Dean?”

“Allison, the day nurse, is in with him now. He woke up about 10 minutes ago. I’m out of here until tonight as soon as I finish up with you but I’ll let her know that you’re awake, too.” When he nodded, she said, “I’m glad to see that you both are looking a bit better. It’s amazing what sleep can do.” In reality, both men had woken up during her night shift but had drifted back off to sleep after a few words and confirmation that the other one was ‘fine’ and ‘asleep’. She found it better though to focus on the positives with all her patients. 

Pulling the thermometer free from his mouth, Allison glanced at it and smiled slightly at Dean. “Not bad, just under 102. Glad to see we’re moving in the right direction.”

“Can we get rid of this then?” he asked, motioning toward the IV. She had shut off the oxygen when she had come in but had not move yet to remove the IV.

“No, that’s staying in. Dr. Gray has ordered IV antibiotics all day, at least. But how about some breakfast?” 

He shook his head, “I’m not that hungry. How’s Sam?”

She smiled, having been warned by Bonnie that that question was bound to be top of Dean’s mind, “He was asleep when I came in but Bonnie was going in to check on him so you can see him as soon as you’re finished with breakfast. How do you feel about cereal?”

Knowing when he was beat, Dean smiled brightly, “Love it! Nothing better … fruit loops, cheerios, I eat everything.” His cheery façade quickly crumbled as he began to cough harshly, gagging for a minute before spitting into a quickly produced basin. “Ugh,” he said, breathlessly, leaning back. “I thought I was getting better.”

She slid a pulse ox monitor on his finger and studied the readings for a moment. “You are but let’s just put the oxygen back on you for a few minutes while you relax and I get breakfast,” she said calmly, reaching for the tubing. “You’ll feel better, I think.” Watching him relax with his eyes closed for a moment, she patted his hand and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He nodded, feeling embarrassed by his weakness. He hated being sick and would much rather be curled up in some hotel room, alone to nurse his own wounds then deal with this kindness. Without meaning to, he slipped back asleep.

Two hours later, Sam picked up the tv remote and turned on the morning news, eyeing the piece of toast on the table in front of him. The water was safe, he decided and he took a small sip from the glass sitting next to the toast. His stomach rolled slightly and he half expected the bread to suddenly erupt in a mass of maggots as he watched it. He couldn’t even look at the small bowl of applesauce and the possible hidden terrors lurking beneath its surface.

Allison was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him in the chair. She glanced at the news doing a report about the impact of a winter storm and travel in the Midwest and said easily, “Looks like we might get a bit of snow by the end of week. That toast and applesauce are the only things standing between you and hot chocolate and popcorn in front of a fireplace.”

He laughed at the idea before closing his eyes for a moment. Pushing down the rising nausea, he took a small bite of toast. It stayed exactly as it was – some sort of bakery bread, lightly toasted with a small smear of melted butter and a bit of homemade blueberry jam. He chewed and swallowed before taking a deep breath. 

“Excellent,” she said with a nod. “My birthday is this Friday and snow and storm warnings have ruined many parties for me.”

“What do you usually do for your birthday?” he asked, glancing at her. 

She smiled, “Eat a bit of applesauce and I’ll tell you.”

He carefully stirred it with the spoon before taking a very small bite.

“We do a nice, small, family reunion. Sort of makes up for not getting together at Christmas, which is harder with everyone’s schedules. My kids come to my house, along with Dr. Gray, Bonnie, and a few other friends,” she said, nodding at the toast. “And another bite when you can, please. I have twin sons, both in the life, and an older daughter who lives over in Knoxville. She’s an assistant professor of ancient religions, so I’m sure you can see how that comes in handy. After they all had graduated from high school, I actually moved here to work with Dr. Gray.”

Sam smiled, “Really?” When she nodded, he said, “I can see that, she’s great.” 

“She is and has really helped a lot of people. My kids think it’s pretty cool, as well.”

“Where did you live before?” he asked, alternating small bites of toast with even smaller bites of applesauce and allowing her to fill in the silence.

“Good job,” she said fifteen minutes later when it was clear that Sam was done. The toast was gone and about half the applesauce was too. For someone who hadn’t eaten much in several weeks, according to his file, she was happy with the process and knew Dr. Gray would be too. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said hesitantly. His stomach ached but he didn’t feel as if he was going to throw up, either.

“Well, stay where you are and continue to work on that glass of water. I need to check on Dean and see about his breakfast, too.”

“How’s he doing?” Sam asked, looking over at the shared wall as if he could see the other man.

She smiled, “He’s OK. His temp was down earlier and he fell back asleep, which is really the best thing right now. Antibiotics and sleep and letting the body do its thing.”

He nodded, feeling relieved. “I’m glad. I know he doesn’t want to be here but I’m glad you all convinced him to stay. Dr. Gray said it could have been serious.”

Allison nodded, “Very much so.” She smiled, standing up and picking up the tray and leaned in slightly closer to fake whisper to him, “And given how determined Dr. Gray can be, I’m not sure how much of a choice he really had.”

Sam laughed, “Yeah, I got that feeling. I certainly wasn’t asked, which was probably for the best.”

She nodded, “You and most of the hunters we treat. I think when you’re use to medical care taking place in a hotel with silk thread and alcohol of various types, the idea of a nice, sterile IV, legal prescriptions, and a clean bed while you recover can seem like overkill.” She smiled kindly at him when he did an embarrassed half shrug. “Don’t worry, my sons are the same way. I threated to take them out to the woodshed if I ever heard about that kind of behavior from them.”

He laughed, “Did they listen?”

She smiled, “As far as I know, yes but they are very close, like you and your brother, and I’m sure you know how to cover for each other against probing parental questions.” She laughed again and added, “When I tell them I should give them a good spanking when we get together, just to make up for all the stuff they do and don’t tell me, I feel like the protests of total innocence are a bit too much.” 

Sam laughed again, feeling an instant connection to the nurse and her sons. He wondered briefly if he and Dean had ever bumped into them at the Roadhouse or other hunter gathering spots. Watching her carry the tray out of the room, he turned his attention back to the tv. The noise was comforting but he hoped that he would soon be able to turn it off and not feel as if the silence was too loud. 

Still carrying the tray, Allison stuck her head back into the bedroom saying, “Your brother is awake. If you feel up to it, you can go in and keep him company while he eats breakfast.” When Sam nodded, she motioned toward the IV, “Disconnect that from the power, please and roll it in. Dr. Gray wants you still on fluids today.”

A moment later, he knocked on Dean’s door and smiled as his brother turned from the TV to the door. “Want some company?”

Dean smiled, “Hell, yes. But, fair warning, man, I’m coughing up gunk that makes me look possessed or something. If my head starts spinning around, you may want to back off.”

Sam laughed, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed so he could face his brother. “Umm, dude, considering you’ve been watching me puke for weeks, I really don’t think I have any room to be pointing fingers.”

“Point,” he said with a smile, shaking his head. “We are something…”

The younger man laughed, “At least we’re moving.”

Dean’s laugh quickly turned into another hacking cough. “God, I hate this,” he said after a minute, spitting into the nearby basin. “I feel like I’m coughing up bits of lung or something here.”

“Better out then in,” Sam said. “I can’t help but think the fact that you’re coughing up stuff is a good sign.”

“Whatever,” he said, “it’s still disgusting.” Spying Allison coming in with a tray, he said dryly, “Oh look, breakfast.”

She smiled at his tone, not taking it personally. “Yes, you said you ate everything.”

Sam laughed, trying hard not to blanch at the sight of more covered dishes. Rationally, he knew that nothing was under those covers but fruit or cereal or yogurt but he still half expected to see tentacles or feelers poking out from under the lids. 

With a sigh, Dean quickly removed the two lids to reveal a bowl of cheerios and diced fruit. “Looks yummy,” he said. 

“Again?” Dean asked incredulously, staring at the cards Sam had just put down on the table between them. He was still sitting in the chair and Sam had moved to a desk chair Allison had helpfully rolled into the room after Dean was finished with his breakfast. They had been sitting there playing no score rummy for over an hour, laughing quietly and talking about nothing in particular. The nurse had brought in a plate of apple slices and crackers with small smears of peanut butter and they had been nibbling on that for the last 30 minutes. Dean had gently encouraged Sam to eat one or the other during the game’s pauses and he was secretly pleased to see his brother absent mindedly obey and eat without thinking too much about it. 

Rummy was one of their quick, go to games they had played all their lives. Never bothering to keep score, they simply played back and forth and allowed the ease of the game, the distraction, and lack of needed eye contact to help bridge gaps. They played for hours when they were both restless teenagers, chafing at John’s rules and their changing relationship, in the late hours days and weeks after Jess’s death left the younger man unable to sleep, and on the road when a hunt left them both too wired to sleep but too tired to keep driving. It was easy, mindless but always familiar and theirs. 

Sam chuckled, leaning forward and eyeing his brother’s cards. “I thought you were going for 10s and I held on to that one for as long as possible.”

“I knew it,” Dean said with a smile, shaking his head. “I knew you had to have gotten it but it was too late in the game to start switching stuff up.” He coughed again, as he had on and off the whole morning. With a sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment as he caught his breath after spitting again into the basin.

As if sensing a lull in the game, Allison came in, glancing between them both. “What do you say about packing it in for a bit, guys? You both look like you’re flagging.” She didn’t actually use the word ‘nap’, having learned with both her sons and other hunters at the clinic that the word was completely taboo. 

Eyeing his brother, Sam nodded. “Good idea, it would allow me to quit while I’m winning,” he said with a smile. 

Dean opened his eyes slowly, “I don’t think you’re winning now, man. Two hands in a row doesn’t constitute winning when we’ve been playing for over an hour.”

“No but four out of the last seven certainly does,” Sam said, standing up. The room spun for a moment, causing him to sway, closing his eyes as he sank onto the bed just behind him. “Whoa…”

Allison was at his side a second later, putting her hand on his shoulder and bracing him slightly to prevent him for sliding off the bed. “I’ve got you,” she said firmly.

“Sammy!” Dean said, starting to stand up but was caught by the table in front of him.

Holding up his hand and opening his eyes, Sam said, “No, it’s OK. Just … too quickly, I guess. The room just went swirly for a second but it’s OK now, I think.”

“Definitely time for some rest,” the nurse said, watching him. After a moment she said, “Want to try that again?”

He nodded and slowly stood up, using the bed and her hands to support himself when the room tilted slightly. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he nodded again, “I think it’s OK now.”

She glanced at Dean, “Are you OK there for a few minutes?”

He nodded, “I’m good. You OK now, Sammy?”

Sam nodded again, “Yeah, it’s good now. No worries.” Slowly walking toward the hall, using the IV pole for some support, he turned back to Dean, “Rematch this afternoon?”

He laughed, “Yeah and we’ll see who wins then.”

Sliding into bed a moment later, Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “I didn’t think I was that tired.”

Allison smiled, “It sneaks up on you when you’re sick, for sure.” Grabbing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope from the cabinet drawer, she said, “Let me just get a quick reading and I want to check your temperature again, too. Dr. Gray will be around to check on you both this afternoon and we can’t have her thinking we forgot to keep an eye on you.”

He chuckled and then yawned. “What?” he asked, when she made a concerned noise after checking his blood pressure.

“Just a bit lower than we’d like,” she said, patting his arm before holding out the thermometer, “Open up for me and put this under your tongue.” 

Obeying, he fought against closing his eyes for a long moment before giving up. He flinched slightly at the beep but kept his eyes closed, suddenly too tired to open them again.

“Good,” she murmured, straightened the blankets around him. “Go to sleep, Sam.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quietly. “Will you turn tv back on, please?”

“Of course,” she said, clicking the remote and heard the soft music from the time and temp channel fill the room. Watching him drift off for a moment, she returned to Dean’s room and found him standing by the bedroom door. “And where do you think you’re going?” she asked with a smile, motioning him back into the room.

He shrugged, “How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” she said firmly, moving into the bedroom and subtly guiding Dean back as well. “He’s asleep already and that’s what you should be doing.” She studied his face for a minute before nodding, “You look tired, I can see it your eyes.”

Dean smiled slightly at the very mom-like saying, “I’m going, I’m going.”

She laughed, “Good!” Helping him into bed, she tucked in the blankets and turned the oxygen back on. “I know you don’t like this but it will help when you’re sleeping. It makes sure you’re not working too hard and can relax.” Watching him close his eyes, she patted his arm, “Sleep well.”

“So, how did they do today?” Susan asked, sitting down at the kitchen island with Allison, several cookies, and a cup of tea. She had just gotten to the clinic after a long day at the doctor’s office and a bit of caffeine and sugar were in order to help her push through for the next couple of hours. She glanced at the clock and saw that Bonnie would be arriving in the next hour or so. 

Allison smiled, sipping her own tea. “Good, for the most part. They both had lunch – Sam kept down more toast with peanut butter and sliced banana and then had some apple slices and crackers this morning and afternoon as snacks. Dean had more soup and a half of turkey and swiss sandwich, plus apple slices with Sam.”

The doctor nodded, “Good. I’m glad Sam seems to be keeping food down again. How’s Dean’s fever doing?”

The other woman waggled her hand, “It’s going down but even with the acetaminophen, not disappearing totally. He’s feeling better though but coughing up a lot of gunk from his lungs, which he complains about constantly.” She laughed, “That and the fact that I’ve had him on oxygen when he takes naps or whatever they call them.”

Susan grinned, well use to the taboo of the word. “Did they sleep much?”

She nodded, “Close to three hours this morning, after breakfast. They played cards in Dean’s room for a bit after breakfast and then both started flagging. Sam slept most of the afternoon, after lunch, but Dean was awake and just reading, watching tv, or lightly dozing. Sam woke up around 4:00 and they played cards together again. When I came in here, they were both sitting in Sam’s room, watching tv.”

The other woman nodded again, “Good. I’m glad they are both resting, at least.” She glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 6:00. “If you want to get out of here a bit early, go ahead. I’m going to give them both quick exams and can hold down the fort until Bonnie gets here in an hour. I know you came in early this morning and appreciate it.”

Allison smiled, “Thanks, I’d love that. It’s been a long day. Do you want me to get dinner started?”

She shook her head, “No, but thanks. There are several options and I’m not sure which one Dean will want. I’m going to give Sam some soup and see how that goes.”

She could hear the national news playing softly as she neared Sam’s open door. Knocking, she paused for a moment before stepping inside. “Evening, boys,” she said with a smile. Sam was sitting on the exam stool and Dean was in the chair, with the lowered bed table between them. A deck of cards sat nearby but they were both looking at stuff on their phones.

“Contraband looks to be about it. Other than that, there is nothing good out at the movies, unless you count something about Margaret Thatcher, which you might but I certainly don’t.” Dean said, glancing up at his brother and then the doctor. “What’s up, Doc?” he said with a grin as she came closer.

Sam rolled his eyes and groaned dramatically. “Man, I know you’re sick but even that’s lame.”

“Hey! That’s a classic, you can’t beat a classic!” he protested, with a laugh that quickly turned into a cough.

Susan laughed, “I’m good, thank you. How are you both feeling?” She eyed Dean, “Your cough actually sounds better.”

“It’s disgusting,” he said. “But yeah, the headache is all but gone. Of course, I’ve done nothing but sleep for the last 24 hours, so I’m sure that helped, too.”

Ignoring the massive exaggeration, she turned to Sam, “And Allison said you’ve eaten well today. No more nausea?”

He shook his head and gave her an embarrassed smile, “Nope, it’s been good. I’m not sure I’d say I’ve eaten that much, but it’s certainly more then what I’ve eaten lately. The same with sleeping – all day it seems like.” 

“Excellent!” Turning back to Dean, she said, “Why don’t you come back to your room for a few minutes. I want to listen to your breathing before we start talking about when you can get out of here.” Helping him stand up, she smiled at Sam, “Don’t go anywhere, please. I’ll be around to check you out in a few minutes.”

“I’m insulted! You just want to listen to breath but you want to check him out?” Dean countered with a smile. 

She sighed and shook her head slowly at him before gesturing toward the door. “After you, kid.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Getting off the stool and moving back to the bed, Sam laughed. “I’ll be here when you get tired of dealing with him.”

Dean sank down in the chair in his room with a sigh and laid his head back for a moment, panting slightly.

“So, tell me how you’re really feeling, Dean,” Susan asked gently, turning on the bedside lamp for more light and sitting down on the stool in front of him, her bag on the table. “Just me and you in here …”

“Like walking from one room to the other has left me slightly out of breath and every time I do take a deep breath, I basically cough up snot or bits of lung,” he said with a half-smile. “But hey, at least my brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode out of my skull or start dripping from my ears because of pressure.”

She laughed softly, “Well, that’s good at least. Dripping brains … a mess to get out of the carpets and car interiors for sure.”

He smiled at her before shrugging. “Honestly, Doc, it’s better for sure. And, I’m glad that Sam seems better.”

“He is but I’m also concerned about you,” she said, patting his hand. “You are important, too, Dean.” When he just shrugged, she smiled at him. “Ok, no chick-flick moments, I know the rules. But, I’m going to continue to worry about you and take care of you and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it, young man.” Opening up her bag, she pulled out a tongue depressor, “Alright then, let’s get started. Go ahead and open up for me, I want to see how your throat is looking with all this coughing.”

“Well, don’t scream if it looks as bad as it feels,” he said, opening his mouth and leaning forward slightly.

Fifteen minutes later, she smiled, leaning back and pulling the stethoscope from her ears. “Well, your lungs sound a bit better for sure but I’m glad we’re keeping you on IV antibiotics through tomorrow morning. After that, I think you’ll be fine to switch to pills and I’ll let you get out of here.”

He smiled, “Great! Not that I haven’t enjoyed the accommodations or anything. What about Sam?”

Susan nodded, “Since he’s eating, I expect him to be released tomorrow as well.” Looking at him seriously for a moment, she said, “But, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him yesterday. Getting released from here doesn’t mean you’re back on the road, crappy hotels, bad food, long hours, and fighting everything that goes boo.”

Dean started to protest, “Not everything, Doc! Just …”

She held up a hand, “Not the point. The point is that you are still sick, could easily relapse, and – as you said yourself – you can’t even walk from one room to the next without getting out of breath. You need to take the time to recover. Sam needs the time, too.” She paused, letting the words sink in for a moment. “Sam isn’t going to sit around the Shady Oaks Hotel with his feet up recovering while you traipse all over the place doing god knows what. And you certainly wouldn’t let him go off on his own while you recover, either.”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. That was simply unthinkable, especially with what they had been through the last few months and previous year long separation.

She patted his knee, “A good friend has a house near by that should work for you, but I’ll know more tomorrow.” When he nodded, she smiled. “Good, thank you.” Standing up, she put her stethoscope back in the bag. “Since that’s settled … dinner. How are you feeling about eating?”

“I’m not really hungry,” he said with a shrug. “Whatever you want to give me will be great, I’m sure,” he quickly added.

“OK. Bonnie made this wonderful noodle and ground beef casserole thing … pure, 100% comfort food. How’s that sound?”

Dean smiled, “That actually sounds good.”

“Comfort food, it is then,” she said. “I’m going to go check on Sam so just relax for a bit.” Handing him the tv remote from the nearby stand, she smiled. “I’m glad you’re being smart, Dean, and are going to take some time to recover. You both need it.”

“Yeah,” he said, knowing she was right even as he hated the idea of sitting still longer. The almost suffocating weight that had been pressing on him for months, if not longer if he allowed himself to think too deeply on his time with Lisa, had lessened just a fraction but he could still feel it. Swallowing, he laid his head back and closed his eyes and tried not to think too much.

Knocking on Sam’s doorframe a minute later, she smiled at the younger man sitting in bed, watching tv. “Glad to see you followed my instructions and didn’t go roaming anywhere.”

He laughed, clicking off the tv and putting the remote on the bedside table. “I’d be afraid of what you’d do, if I did.”

Shutting the door, she nodded as she started to wash her hands, “I always knew you were smart, even before your father told me all about your hard work at college.” Coming over, she pulled the stool closer to the bed and sat down. “How are you feeling?”

Sam swallowed, wanting desperately to ask her what his father had said about his college activities but unsure how to bring it up without sounding pathetic. He had been shocked to find out his father had kept tabs on him while he was in Stanford and had gotten small hints that, even though the older man had reacted badly to his son’s news, he had boasted about the fact and Sam’s accomplishments to friends.

“Sam? How are you feeling?” she repeated, reaching out and touching his arm. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Just tired, sorry. But other than that, I’m feeling OK. Good, for the most part.”

“Any pain when you eat? Any nausea? Going to the bathroom OK?” She nodded over at the chart by the door and said, “I saw that your temperature’s been normal all day but you had a dizzy spell this morning and your blood pressure was a bit lower than normal.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. My stomach sort of aches, I guess, after I eat and it feels a bit off but I haven’t gotten sick. And no, no problems in the bathroom.”

Susan smiled, “Good, a bit off we can work through.” Standing up, she said, “I’m going to lower the bed and I want you to lay back so I can take a listen at how things are moving now that you’ve got some food and water in your system.”

Closing his eyes as she pulled up his shirt to expose his stomach, he flinched slight at the touch of the stethoscope. 

“Sorry,” she said, “I tried to warm it up with my hand but I guess it wasn’t enough. Just keep breathing normally for me.” Moving it in a slow deliberate pace, she nodded, “Good, good. You’re doing great, Sam.”

“Not doing anything,” he said even as he squirmed slightly as her hands ghosted over his hips and pushed the waistband of his pants down slightly.

Patting his arm, she pulled off the stethoscope and adjusted his waist band. “That’s all you needed to do.” She adjusted the head of the bed up and sat back down on the stool next to the bed. “Everything is sounded good, so, at this point, I think you’ll be OK to get out of here tomorrow, with a few conditions.”

He smiled, “Good and yeah, I remember what we talked about yesterday. Looking at Dean, I can tell that he – that we, really – could use another few weeks off.” He shrugged, “Just … that’s not something that comes easily to either one of us.” Waving his hand in a vague direction around the room before saying, “This whole set up, not just powering through in crappy hotels … having the time to recover.” He blushed a bit before giving another embarrassed shrug, “It’s great and I think something we both need right now. It’s been a really rough few months … longer, a rough few years.” He only had vague memories of his time with his grandfather and cousins but knew and felt enough to know that it had taken a toll on him both mentally and physically. He remembered barely sleeping when his soul was missing and, judging by how his jeans felt, had missed more than a few meals during that time, too.

“And I’m very glad that we can provide this for you, for the whole community. You all do so much for the world and get nothing for it … it’s the least we can do,” she said with a smile. “And trust me, I keep reminding the organized religions’ representatives of that every quarter when I send them their ‘donation request’. Luckily, they are very much aware and very grateful.” She paused for a moment, giving him space as she saw a host of emotions play across his face.

He finally took a deep breath and nodded, “I don’t know if even they’d believe me … us.” Then, laughing softly, he shook his head, “And probably best not to find out by spilling state secrets.”

Susan smiled, “Probably not. Do you want to try to get some rest before dinner or are you hungry now?”

“I’m not hungry,” he admitted. “I know I should probably eat but …” He touched his stomach gently.

“No, it’s fine,” she said softly. “Let me worry about the probablys and shoulds and you just do what I tell you to do. I am the professional, after all.” She smiled again before asking, “Are you nauseous this evening?”

Sam swallowed, glancing away before giving a small shrug. “I don’t know.”

“OK, kid, I know you’re not going to be happy but I really don’t want you throwing up again so I’m going to get you another suppository.”

He groaned, “It’s really not that bad. Can’t we wait and see if it goes away on its own?”

She smiled at his accidental confirm that he was still feeling nauseous. “No, sorry. You’re not going to throw up again on my watch, young man,” her voice was firm but she smiled at him to take away any worry about true anger. “I think you got really lucky with no major issues or bleeding in your esophagus or stomach. We’re not going to press that luck now, just as you’re getting better.”

Nodding, he shifted in bed, “I’ll deal with it myself.”

Susan stood up, “I know and I trust you to be honest with me. Let me go get it and I’ll put it in the bathroom for you. You can go in when you feel ready. I’m going to get Dean’s dinner for him and then we’ll talk in about an hour, OK? We’ll give the medicine some time to work and you can relax in the meantime.”

He blushed, not looking at her as he nodded. “OK.” 

Going into the kitchen five minutes later, she quickly washed her hands and began to heat up Dean’s dinner. 

“How’s Sam,” he asked as she brought in the tray and put it down on the rolling table in front of the chair 10 minutes later. He glanced over at the shared wall with a frown, “Is he eating dinner tonight?”

“He’s fine and yes, but a little later,” she said, sitting down across from him. “Let’s worry about you, right now.” Nodding toward the plate with a small serving, she asked, “Eat up, while it’s hot.”

Dean smiled, “You know, we’ve traveled all over, been to probably, 40, 50 schools over the years and they all serve something like this and, I think, every mother has this in her arsenal of recipes.” Taking a small bite of the meaty, cheesy casserole, he smiled, “And this is an excellent version.”

Susan laughed, “Good, you can tell Bonnie tonight. She’ll be here in about 45 minutes for the night shift. Did your father ever make it for you boys?”

“Do you get to go home when she gets here?” he asked, taking another bite, ignoring the question and not wanting to explain too much of how they grew up. His father had an excellent reputation as a hunter and a very questionable one with many who knew he was also a father. He simply didn’t have the energy to open that box of issues, even with someone as liked as her.

She paused, “Probably not. I’ll hang around here for a bit and then sleep here. I typically stay here when we have overnight guests, just in case there’s a problem or the night nurse needs an extra pair of hands.” She shrugged, “Here or my house … a bed’s a bed and here I can be useful, at least.” 

Dean smiled, “I get that. After all the hotels we’ve stayed in, you pretty much have to adopt a bed’s a bed attitude, too.”

Moving the conversation from less serious topics, Susan said, “Did your brother tell you about the ghosts I told him about over at Reelfoot Lake?” 

He took another bite and grinned, “No but you’ve caught my interest for sure.”

Fifteen minutes later, she nodded at the mostly empty plate, “Done?”

He sighed, “Yeah.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he coughed again and tried to take a deep breath. “I’ve done nothing but sleep for 2 days, how can I still be this tired?”

Susan laughed and shook her head, “Two days my foot, kid. You got here yesterday around 4:30 in the afternoon … so about 26 hours ago.” Standing up, she shook her head again, “And you certainly haven’t slept all day. I swear, if I didn’t know you boys were telling the truth about what you’ve seen and hunted, I’d think all hunters were natural born storytellers and prone to gross exaggerations.” 

He grinned, shifting in his chair and gave a small shrug. “So maybe it just feels that way.”

“Uh huh,” she said, shaking her head again. Handing him the tv remote, she said, “Here, entertain yourself for a bit while I go check on your brother.” Picking up the tray, she carried it out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen. A quick glance into Sam’s room showed that he was fast asleep, curled up on his side in the soft light. Heading into the kitchen, she quickly washing her hands before dishing out a serving of the casserole for herself and began to heat it up for her own dinner. 

“Do you want me to see if Dean wants to keep you company?” Susan asked an hour later putting down his dinner as Sam moved from the bed to the chair. “Or, if it’s less pressure, I’ll sit with you. Bonnie’s here and she can keep him company. Last I heard, she was bringing in pie recipes from her grandmother’s collection for them to look at together.”

Taking a shaky breath, he said, “No, you can see if he wants to come in here.” He flashed her a quick smile, “It will make him feel better.”

She smiled back, “He worries but I’m thinking about you right now. If it helps you, great; if it’s too much pressure then we’ll forget I even brought it up.”

Sam shrugged again, “I worry about him, too, so I guess it evens out. You can ask him, please.” He stared at the covered bowl and tried to convince himself to pull off the lid. Rationally, he knew that it was going to be like the other meals he had eaten the last 24 hours … normal, easy on the stomach, good food. But he also found himself getting lost in the past imagery of the prior weeks and unable to move.

“Yum,” Dean said cheerfully sitting down across from him. “If that’s the chicken noodle soup, I had that yesterday and for lunch today. It’s great, much better than the canned stuff you normally eat.”

He jerked his head up, surprised at his brother’s sudden appearance, and smiled, “I’m sure.”

Dean watched him for a moment before glancing behind him and confirming Dr. Gray wasn’t in the room with them. Leaning in, he said quietly, “You’ve got this, Sammy. Lift the lid and you’ll see it’s OK.” He was aware of some of his brother’s hallucinations and was smart enough to figure that at least some of them involved food, given the hesitation and often scared or horrified looks that passed across the other man’s face. Reaching out carefully to avoid pulling either one of their IV tubing, he lightly squeezed Sam’s scarred hand, pressing on the healed wound, “Remember … real and here. Nothing else, just me and you and us and we’re real.”

“Yeah,” he said, breathing out and pulling off the lid. He knew it was fine but was still half surprised not to see a mass of maggots or roaches swarm over the bowl’s edge. Picking up the spoon and staring hard into the liquid as he stirred it, watching for anything to come out of the depths before slowly taking a mouthful.

“See! Good, huh?” Dean said with more cheer than a mouthful of soup actually warranted. “So, while you were sleeping the evening away,” he started.

“As if!” Sam protested with a smile. “30 minutes, tops.” Take another small bite of soup, he shook his head in denial. 

“Dude, I could hear your snores through the walls!” he said with a laugh, tipping his head back, opening his mouth and giving an exaggerated snore. The movement and intake of breath caused him to cough but he ignored it and snored again.

Sam grinned and rolled his eyes as he laughed softly. “Jerk.”

“As I was saying, bitch,” he replied with a grin, “while you were sleeping, I found some great recipes for getting you back on your feet. Since we’re going to be in town and Doc said a house, I figure we could cook.”

“We both need to get back on our feet, not just me. And, you can cook,” Sam corrected, slowly taking another small spoonful of broth. “I’ll watch and serve as your official dish washer.” 

“That works, too,” he said, eyeing the still mostly full bowl of soup. “If you don’t start eating more of that, though, I’m going to be forced to take the spoon and start making airplane noises as I feed you myself, Sammy.” Frowning, he nudged his brother’s foot with his, “And actually eat the stuff in it, not just the broth. I’m sure you need the chicken and the veggies.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly ate two mouthfuls, making sure to get bits of chicken, pasta, and some of the soft vegetables.

Dean nodded, satisfied, “Good. Like that …” After Sam ate a third, he smiled, “So, where do you stand on biscuits … just for breakfast or can we have them for dinner, too?”

Out in the hall, Susan smiled as she heard Sam’s laugh drift out from the bedroom. She was working on emails and keeping an ear out for any problems. She could hear Dean’s deeper tones once in a while, Sam’s protest earlier about something his brother had said, and both men’s laughter as they lightly joked back and forth, teasing and harassing each other. The Winchester Boys had certainly bought into the old adage that laughter was the best medicine. She personally thought antibiotics topped the list but laughter and a good brother were close seconds.

OOOooOOO


	3. Chapter Three

Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Susan Gray finished typing out her How Not To Undo All My Hard Work Instructions, as she liked to privately call her discharge instructions for the Winchesters and hit the print button on her computer. Prescriptions had been filled, Allison was packing up the food, and the boys were both enjoying showers now that their IVs had been removed after lunch. Scooping up the papers from the printer, she quickly stapled them and put them in a folder to be reviewed before they left the clinic in about an hour. That chore done, she picked up the folder for the house they would be moving to and hopefully staying at through, or at least most of, February while they recovered. Flipping through the historical information and eyewitness reports of … something, she gave a small, satisfied smile. Her friend, the house’s owner, Marie Reynolds, had gathered the info and dropped it off the day before and after flipping through it, she thought it was enough of a mystery to keep them occupied but not too dangerous or stressful. 

The house was normally a quiet Airbnb property but for the last several years, the occasional renter had reported seeing … something that they couldn’t quiet figure out. Some saw a man, some just saw mist that moved too deliberately and was too formed to actually be mist, and others weren’t really sure what they saw and were reluctant to talk about. There was old family graveyard on the property and Franklin itself had its own bloody Civil War history, which added to the mystery. Two months ago, after one unsettling personal run in with … something, Marie had gone immediately to Susan, her friend, for a full checkup and the whole story pour out of her. During dinner after hours, and after several glasses of wine, promises had been made to find someone to deal with it. The property provided the perfect solution as to how to help keep the Winchesters around while they recovered and help another friend.

“You’re clear on my instructions and know what I’m requiring of you?” Susan asked firmly, looking between Sam and Dean sitting across from her in her office 45 minutes later. They each had written instructions, Sam had, with great reluctance, taken a few extra anti-nausea suppositories packed with a cold pack in a paper bag and tucked into his duffle bag, and Dean had two filled prescriptions for his cough and ongoing fever. And both looked like they were ready to bolt as soon as possible. While they both looked better than they had on Monday afternoon, they were both still clearly sick and she wouldn’t have released them if they hadn’t agreed to stick around. 

“Crystal,” Dean said with a smile, tapping the folded piece of paper in front of him, his smile disappearing as he coughed harshly. 

“We understand,” Sam said with a nod, giving his brother a chance to catch his breath. “Between hacking up a lung and trying to stay awake for more than three hours at a stretch, I think we have our hands full.” He smiled as Dean glared at him.

“Trust me, Doc, we’re not going to do anything but chilling and coughing,” Dean said and then nodding at Sam next to him, adding, “and sleeping and eating until we see you on Monday.”

She looked between them, smiling, “Good. I’m very glad to hear it but if you need me, any time, regardless of the day, you have my numbers and you can call or text me. I expect to hear good things about your behavior on Monday. Good food, plenty of rest, and no alcohol.” Standing up, she said, “Come on, I’ll carry some of the stuff to your car for you.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but a quick glare by the doctor made him smile, “We appreciate the help.” He tapped the house folder, adding, “And thanks for the job, it looks interesting and we’re happy to help.”

“That’s low priority though, compared to getting better,” she said with a smile, opening her office door. “The owner usually doesn’t bother renting it at all January and February and isn’t pushing for a quick turn around.” Leading them back into the kitchen area, she saw that Allison had packed much of the food into disposable containers and put it in insulated bags for them to take to the house about 10 minutes away. It would save them the hassle of major grocery shopping for at least a couple of days.

“Thanks again, Doc,” Sam said with a smile and giving her a brief hug after they had stowed everything into the backseat. Even with a known ally, there was no sense in exposing all their secrets tucked into the hastily built concealment compartments in the Charger’s trunk. Opening the driver’s door, he shook his head as Dean started to protest. “Deal with it, you’re still running a fever and coughing all the time.”

After saying his own good-byes, Dean slid into the passenger with another glare at his brother.

“Got the directions?” Sam asked, ignoring the glare with a smile.

Dean sighed and tapped on his phone, “Yeah … turn left at the end of the driveway.”

Ten minutes later, Sam slowly turned into another driveway and smiled. “Nice!” 

Leaning forward, Dean peered at the small house and nodded, “Yeah. Much better than our normal digs, for sure.” The small house was painted white brick with a large covered front porch and was surrounded by trees, now bare of their leaves, and a split rail fence around the entire front. “Looks like parking is around the back,” he said, pointing to the curve of the driveway.

Sam nodded, “Yeah and you should have the code for the door.”

Looking back to his phone, Dean nodded, “Got it, it’s for the back door across from the fire pit.” He smiled and glanced at his brother, “We are so making s’mores tonight.”

He laughed, “We don’t have any ingredients for s’mores, Dean but yeah it’ll go on the grocery list.”

“Excellent, s’mores and since the ghost has been seen around the fire pit, we might get a good look at him … it, whatever.” Dean opened the car door after it stopped in the parking pad, looking around. Trying to take a deep breath and failing, coughing harshly, he nodded again. “This is really nice, Sam.” Grabbing one of the duffle bags from the backseat, he slowly made his way to the door and punched in the code, pleased when the lock flashed green and he was able to open the door. “Sweet,” he said, glancing back at his brother with a smile.

“Go in, I’ll get the bags,” Sam said.

“I can help,” he said coming back outside after dropping his duffle in the sitting area off the kitchen. 

“You can barely breathe, man,” his brother said, shoving an insulated bag into his hands and pushing him back toward the house. “Start unpacking the food and let me handle the car and being out in the cold. You’ve done enough today and we really don’t need to have you end up back at the clinic on oxygen again.”

“Doctor Gray would kill us,” Dean said with a small smile. The short walk and cold air had left him winded and he was trying hard not to cough yet again.

“You,” Sam corrected with a smile. “She’d kill you, not us.” Unpacking the car took just a few minutes but by the time he was done, Sam was happy to lock the car and get into the warmth of the house. The air was damp and it was barely 40, with a dark gray sky that looked like rain or snow any moment. He was feeling tired and the idea of being still for a while was very appealing. Ignoring their bags for another minute, he walked around the bright space. It was warm and cozy; nicely decorated without being too over the top. In the front of the house, there was a large dining space that flowed into a living room with a large tv and three bedrooms down a hall. One of the bedrooms had a single queen and its own bathroom, another had two queens, a second bathroom in the hall, and the third was much smaller, with just a twin. 

“Nice, huh?” Dean asked, coming out of the kitchen into the front living room, the food put away in the fridge and bags tucked into one of the empty cabinets. “And, look … a washer and dryer,” he said with a smile, pointing in the direction of a hall closet. “I know how much you love to do laundry.” Coughing again, he moved back into the kitchen.

Sam rolled his eyes but also knew laundry would be on the top of his To Do list in the next couple of days. Dean’s job was to cook and deal with food, his was to do the laundry … it was one of those assumed, unspoken of chore breakdowns that kept their little world turning and helped ensure they both were fed and had clean clothes. “Which bedroom do you want?” he asked, coming back into the kitchen where Dean was standing, sipping a glass of water and leaning heavily on the kitchen island. “You OK?”

He nodded and took another sip of water, “Just dry …”

Sam shook his head, “We are so far past that excuse, man.” Giving his brother a minute, he asked again, “So, what bedroom do you want? Front of the house with the private bath or back of the house and the hall bathroom?”

Dean frowned, “I don’t know, Sammy. You through throwing up or do you think that’s still an issue? If so … the private bathroom might be good for you.” Then, smiling to turn the serious question into a joke added, “For both our sakes, because not sure how much more vomiting noises I can take.”

He huffed, “I’m OK and I haven’t … been sick since Monday.”

Ignoring the question, Dean smiled, “Oooh, three whole days or really, more like two since I remember lunch on Monday and we’re not even at dinner yet for Wednesday.” Glancing at the clock, he nodded, “But, speaking of the time …”

“What?” Sam asked, interrupting, annoyed and embarrassed. 

“It’s nap time,” Dean said with a smile and laughed at Sam’s expression. “Hey, don’t be making faces as me, Doc’s orders or did you not listen or pay attention to her instructions like a good student?” He pointed to the sheets of instructions on the center island and added, “So, pick a bedroom and crash for a bit.”

Snatching up the paper with his name on it, he skimmed for a minute before tossing it back on the island with a huff. “This is stupid.”

“Hey,” Dean said, picking up his phone with a fake smile, “if you’re confused, I’ll give her a call right now and let you question her all you want. I’m sure that will get you the results you want.”

Sam glared at him before stalking over to his duffle bag and picking it up. A wave of dizziness swept over him as he bent down and stood up suddenly, the room spinning for a second, causing him to tilt and stumble into one of the chairs.

“Got you,” Dean said quietly, suddenly at his brother’s side, holding his upper arm and bracing himself to hold the weight. “It’s OK, Sammy. I’ve got you.” Biting back a cough, he stood still and let Sam center himself. “Stupid, huh?”

“Shut up,” he said with a smile and small nod. “I’m OK now.”

Still holding on to Sam, Dean bent down and picked up the duffle. Luckily, it was the one they had packed just for the clinic and it was light, with just a shaving kit and a couple of changes of clothes. “Let’s go, kid. Nap time for sure.” Walking them slowly through the living room and down the hall, he steered Sam into the back bedroom with two beds. “You OK if I let go?”

Sam sighed, “Yeah.”

“Good.” Putting the duffle down on the bed closest to the door, he said, “Go ahead and change into something more comfortable while I get you some water.” Watching Sam from the doorway for a moment to make sure he was OK, he walked back into the kitchen. Silently gasping for air, he leaned on the counter and quietly coughed deeply, spitting bits of gunk into the sink several times before rinsing them away. Glass of water in hand, he walked back into Sam’s bedroom, noticing the hall bathroom door was closed and the bedroom empty. “You OK in there?” he called out in the direction of the bathroom.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam said a second later.

Turning down the bed furthest from the door, he turned on the nightstand light, drew the curtains, and shut off the bright overhead light. He smiled as Sam came back into the room wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. “Come on, Sammy. Nap time.”

“For you too, Dean,” he said, crossing his arms. “We’re both beat.”

“I’m not the one who needs to catch up on like a month’s worth of shut eye,” he countered.

Sam shrugged, “Whatever but if you don’t lay down and relax, I’m not either.”

“Don’t be stupid, Sam!” Dean all but yelled. “You almost passed out like 5 minutes ago!”

“And you don’t think I haven’t heard you coughing and I know you’re still running a fever!” Sam yelled back. “So, go change into something comfortable, grab your book and go take a nap, too. There’s nothing you need to do this afternoon. We have a great house, we have food, we’re set.”

Dean glared at him and then cursed, walking out of the room and giving Sam one last glare as he muttered, “Fine.” The dramatic exit was ruined slightly by the harsh coughing fit that left him momentarily grasping the wall for support. “I’m fine,” he said a moment later, doing his best to stand up straight.

“Good!” Sam yelled back. “Let’s keep it that way!” Getting his own book out of the duffle bag, he paused for a moment and glanced out into the hall and in the direction of the master bedroom where he had heard Dean walk into a moment ago and smiled slightly. He picked the still mostly packed bag up and tossed it onto the floor by the closet where it was out of the way before turning the bedding down the other bed. Sliding into the far bed with a sigh, he briefly closed his eyes and took several deep breaths as he felt himself relax. Five minutes later, he heard Dean in the doorway. Glancing up, he smiled when he saw his brother in flannel sleeping pants and a long sleeve t-shirt. “Good,” he said with a nod. “The beds are great.”

Dean glanced at the other turned down bed and smiled. “Aww, Sammy, tired of sleeping alone?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Get in, jerk. I don’t trust you to actually relax if I don’t keep an eye out.”

He laughed softly, getting into the other bed with a cough. “Well, those eyes better be closed soon or we’re going to have to have a conversation about the definition of sleep,” he said firmly. 

“Whatever,” Sam said, glancing at his brother a second later and smiling. Closing his book a minute later, knowing it was stupid to resist the pull of sleep just out of stubborn principal, he sighed and rolled over on his side. “Don’t let me sleep too long,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said without a trace of honesty. Half reading and half watching his brother, he felt himself relax too, his headache starting to recede slightly. The house was quiet and warm, with the heat kicking on and providing a soft background hum. 

Sam shifted in bed and for a moment, the quiet of the room too much, and he almost got up to turn on some music, like in the clinic. But then, Dean coughed slightly and shifted in bed. Then, turned a page of his book and yawned and sniffled slightly. And, another page turn … and small sigh of breath. The normal, everyday life sounds that he had slept with and through for years. Old memories filled his head, helping to block out the more recent and terrifying ones. Shifting again, he yawned and felt himself drift asleep.

Dean could tell the moment his brother fell asleep and he smiled. The soft sound of Sam’s slow even breaths made him yawn again and briefly close his eyes. Quietly putting his book down on the nightstand, he clicked off the light and closed his own eyes. He knew he wouldn’t sleep too deeply but it was relaxing to lay in the quiet and drift to the familiar sound of his brother’s even breathing and know that things were slowly getting better. 

“Pick it up and take a bite, Sam.” Dean said, working hard to keep his voice even and avoid any hint of frustration, impatience, or fear from creeping in. They were sitting at the dining room table that evening, fully unpacked and with a load of laundry going in the dryer. 

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the half of turkey and swiss in front of him. 

“Do you want this instead,” Dean asked, motioning toward the ground beef and macaroni casserole that was in front of him. “I’ll trade with you or go heat up some more. We have another good serving in the fridge …”

Sam touched his stomach reflexively. “No … not sure I can deal with that.”

“Are you still nauseous?” Dean eyed him and then said softly, “I know Dr. Gray gave you stuff, in case you are. I saw it in the fridge.”

He blushed and shook his head, “No and don’t even …”

Holding up his hands, Dean smiled, knowing he shouldn’t tease his younger brother but also knowing it was the only thing that would ease the sudden awkwardness. “Hey, no judgement from me, Sammy. If it gets you to eat and helps everything stay down, I’m all for it.” He smiled, adding, “It’s just too bad none of the nurses at the clinic were that cute if they were going to be all up ...”

“Dean! God!” Sam yelled, throwing his napkin at the other man. “Don’t!”

He laughed, “Just teasing you, dude. But seriously …”

Taking a deep breath, Sam closed his eyes briefly before picking up the sandwich and taking a small bite. He felt his stomach uncurl slightly as the sandwich stayed exactly as it was … good turkey, lightly toasted bread, and a bit of sharp tang from the mayo and swiss cheese.

“Good,” he said with a smile as he took a large bite of his own casserole. “Let’s make a grocery list tonight so we can hit the store in the morning. This stuff is good but I’m ready for something different and I think it’ll do us good to move around and get some fresh air.”

Taking another small bite, Sam nodded, “Sounds good. I also need some new books. I’ll go online and see what our options are.” Slowly relaxing as his sandwich stayed a sandwich and they made plans to carry them through the weekend. They could do this, he thought silently. They could both relax, heal, and start recovering from the past weeks, months, and years and be in much better shape to tackle Dick and his horde in a few weeks. 

“I saw a Super Walmart when we exited off I-65,” Dean said. “There’s usually a Goodwill or used bookstore nearby.”

Sam nodded, “I’ll see what’s around there. Gives me a place to start, at least.” The idea of dealing with a Walmart and the crowds was less then appealing and he was hopeful they could find something else nearby.

Dean yawned, and, as if reading his brother’s mind said, “Or maybe just a regular grocery store … get in, get some more food, get out. Battle the crowds when we’re more on our game.”

He smiled and nodded, “Yeah, exactly what I was thinking.”

Shaking his head, Dean laughed. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed that we’re thinking the same thing or scared.” He smiled slightly, unable to resist, “Clearly my fever has given me brain damage to put me on your wavelength.”

Sam huffed, “Brain damage. I think you need a brain first.” He grinned, slowly standing up and picking up their plates. “Go take your fevered self to the living room and see if you can find us something on TV.”

Dean touched his forehead with his fingertips and began making a humming sound. “I sense ... I sense the desire for … Antiques Road Show! You’ll finally get to learn how much that creepy doll collection you want so badly is going to cost!”

He laughed out loud and shook his head, “Yeah, that’s what we need to bring into a house that’s already supposedly haunted … dolls.” 

“Oh! I know,” Dean said, standing up and moving toward the sofa. “Clown dolls!”

Sam laughed from the kitchen, “Yeah … even better idea. Too bad I tossed that Plucky doll already!” Giving the dishes a quick rinse and stacking them in the dishwasher, he sighed and leaned on the island, trying to ignore the building nausea. A moment later, he knew it was a losing battle and casually walked into the master bedroom and bathroom. Turning on the faucet to cover the noise, he quickly threw up, trying hard not to groan as his stomach cramped and revolted against the half of sandwich. 

“Everything OK?” Dean asked, glancing up from the TV.

He nodded, “Yeah, just needed to brush my teeth. That bread was good but I had a seed stuck in a molar or something.” Glancing at the channels his brother was flipping through, he said, “No way, not a singing competition show.”

“Don’t worry … not even thinking about it,” Dean said with a grin. 

“Good, thank you.” Going back into the kitchen for water to rinse out his mouth and ease his throat, he suppressed a yawn and briefly closed his eyes as he leaned on the counter. Even after a 2-hour nap this afternoon, he knew it was going to be an early night. The instruction sheets from the clinic lay on the island and he picked up Dean’s, scanning it quickly and making a face. Carrying the sheets into the living room, he said, “Hey, after you read my instructions from Dr. Gray, did you bother to read yours?”

Slowly clicking through the channels, Dean glanced up and smiled. “Of course! Rest, eat, recoup, whatnot, all of which I’ve been doing. It’s fine, I’ve got it. Come sit down before you fall down. You’re looking a bit pale, there. Are you sure …”

“I’m good,” Sam said, cutting him off, eager to prevent any attention. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“I’m good, too, so come sit down,” he repeated. “PBS has something on about penguins that looks cool.”

“You are so full of it, man,” Sam said, shaking his head as he put the paper down on the dining table. “Where are your pills?”

Dean sighed, “It’s fine, Sam. Stop stressing before you work yourself into a state. Remember that freaked out dog next door to the house we had in Colorado Springs? Little white thing with a bow? It would get so stressed every time we were outside, barking and …”

“Where are your pills?” Sam asked again, cutting him off. He motioned to his phone sitting on one of the end tables and smiled, “Or should I call Dr. Gray and tell her you’ve lost them and we need new ones? It’s not that late, plenty of pharmacies still open or she might just drop them off herself.” Payback, he thought silently, was sweet, as his brother scowled at him. 

“Ass,” Dean muttered. Glancing back at the TV, he finally said, “Fine, if it will get you to calm down and prevent you from making yourself sick again, they are in my bag, in the master bedroom.” He shook his head as Sam headed that way, and yelled, “God knows we don’t need you throwing up again, Samantha.”

“Whatever,” Sam yelled back. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a second as he felt a brief wave of dizziness wash over him, he sat down on the bed and began to dig through Dean’s duffle bag. Finding a white paper bag mixed in with the clothes a minute later, he grabbed and it carried it back into the living room.

“Happy now?” Dean asked sarcastically, not looking up from the TV screen.

“Deliriously happy,” he said as he sat down on the sofa next to his brother. Opening the bag, he pulled out an electric thermometer and turned it on. “Here, open up.”

Dean glanced at him, “Seriously, dude? No, I’m fine. Leave me alone, I’m watching penguins and one is about to be eaten by a leopard seal.”

“Lovely,” Sam said, not moving. “Your instructions say that we are supposed to check your temperature three times a day and if you’re still running a fever, which I’m sure you are because you look flushed, you need to take some acetaminophen. You’re also supposed to be taking your antibiotics with food, three times a day.” Deliberately using the word ‘we’, he took a deep breath and made sure his voice was calm. “We want to stay on top of this, Dean. We just got settled and neither one of us wants you back in the clinic, sicker this time.”

Not taking his eyes off the TV, Dean sighed, “I’m fine, Sam. I don’t need you fussing over me.”

“Not fussing,” Sam said, “but if you’re allowed to take care of me, I’m certainly allowed to take care of you.” He held out the thermometer again, “Here, just take your temperature. If it’s normal, I’ll shut up and happily watch the penguins get eaten with you.”

Dean turned and looked at him for a moment before sighing and grabbing the thermometer. “Nag.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said with a smile, laughing at the rebuttal of their childhood.

Turning it back on, he stuck it in his mouth and under his tongue. Laying his head back on the sofa, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about how tired he was all of a sudden. When it beeped, he pulled it free and handled it to Sam before focusing his attention firmly back on the TV.

Not saying anything, Sam read the display and nodded. “Thank you.” Getting up, he went into the kitchen for a glass of water and pen. Scribbling the temperature on the back of the instructions sheet with the date, per Dr. Gray’s instructions, he returned to the sofa and handed his brother the glass. “Here, hold this a second for me.” Opening the two bottles, he shook out the pills before passing them over. “Take those and drink the whole glass of water.”

Quickly downing the pills with a large gulp of water before putting it down on his end table, Dean glared at him again. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” Sam said with a smile. Settling back on the sofa, he put his feet up on the large padded ottoman next to Dean’s. “Penguins, huh?”

“Shut up, they’re cool.”

“We can go get that movie about the ones that dance this weekend, if you want. They’re happy, dancing penguins.”

Dean glared at him for a minute before turning back to the TV.

Unable to resist, Sam smiled, “I think it just hit Redbox. It’s a squeal though and if you haven’t seen the first one … you might not know what’s going on.” He grinned, nudging his brother’s foot with his foot, “Did you see the first one, Dean?” He laughed, jerking his leg as his brother kicked at him. 

“Shut up and watch the show,” he said, struggling not to laugh. Glancing at his brother, he shook his head and smiled. “You really are stubborn sometimes, Sammy.” 

He smiled back, “I learned from the best.” Sighing slightly, he sank lower in the cushions so he could rest his head on the back of the sofa. “Cool”, he muttered five minutes later, watching a group of penguins crowd around the edge of the ice before diving in almost en masse. 

Dean nudged his brother’s foot with his and smiled, “Told you.”

OOooOOooOO

Slowly opening his eyes the next morning, Dean quietly studied his brother in the other bed. From Sam’s breathing, he could tell the younger man was still asleep and he was reluctant to wake him up. He was sure that Sam had thrown up shortly after dinner, despite trying to hide the fact and he wasn’t sure how much to push. Filing it away in the back of his mind, he quietly picked up his book and began to read. Sam had fallen asleep before the penguins took their final dive into the ocean at the start of the summer season and Dean had let him sleep for another 30 minutes before finally waking him up and helping him to bed. He had dropping into the 2nd bed without a second thought and was fast asleep minutes later. 

“Hey,” Sam said in a rough voice, yawning and glancing at the clock 20 minutes later. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“No need,” he said simply, shrugging. He had been laying in bed reading and, to be perfectly honest, listening to the reassuring sounds of his brother’s slow even breaths after not hearing them for too long. The house was warm and comfortable and they had no place they had to be at any particular time. Closing his book, he asked, “You awake now or going back to sleep? I think there still might be some paint left on the front that hasn’t peeled off from your snores.”

Sitting up, Sam tossed a pillow at him. “For the last time, dude, I don’t snore! You snore! We’ve gotten complaints from hotels to prove it!” He laughed, ducking as his brother threw the pillow back at him. “I’ll tape you next time!”

Dean leaned his head back, mouth open and began to snore. “That was you like 5 minutes ago, Sammy boy. I swear!” He started coughing a second later before hastily sitting up and spitting into tissues his brother quickly shoved in his direction. “God, I am so sick of this!” he yelled a minute later, coughing and spitting again. 

“Better out then in,” Sam said evenly. “Stay there though and let me get you some water.” Coming back from the kitchen a second later, he grabbed the two prescription bottles and the thermometer from the end table in the living room. Sitting down on the edge of his brother’s bed, he held out the thermometer and said, “Here, open up.”

Dean made a face, “Man, you are killing me with this Florence Nightingale impression. It’s got to stop or I’m going to get you a white cap and apron for your birthday.”

“Shut up and open your mouth,” he said. “And, like I said … if you can take care of me for months while I was slowly going off the deep end, the least I can do it take care of you now.”

Grabbing the thermometer, Dean frowned, “You are still going off the deep end, Sammy.” He stuck it in his mouth and crossed his eyes at his brother, smiling.

Sam smiled back, “At least I’m not alone.” The double meaning and all their history, words thrown out in anger and accusations and failures and fears came crashing into his mind and he blinked back tears, quickly looking away.

Reaching out, Dean grabbed his hand as the thermometer beeped. He pulled it free and glanced at the display, making a face, before tossing it onto the nightstand. “No, you’re not alone,” he said firmly. “I’m … We’re …” His voice stuck in his throat before he swallowed, struggling with what to say and how to say it. 

“It’s good, let’s leave the past in the past,” Sam says, smiling. Nodding to the thermometer, he asked, “What’s the verdict?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said, sitting up fully. “I’m fine.”

Sam glared at him, “I’m going to take that as you still running a fever.” Opening he two bottles, he shook the pills into his hand. “Here, take these and drink your water and stop being so stubborn.” He stood up, “And I’m calling dibs on the first shower.”

“Good because you stink!”

“Hope I don’t use all the hot water,” he yelled, laughing and shutting the bathroom door as he heard Dean getting out of bed. 

“If you do, so help me, man!”

Too well trained to ever go to the grocery store without a list, Dean tapped the paper in front of him and asked, “So … what do you feel like eating, Sammy?”

Sam glanced at him, stirring the bowl of cereal in front of him and shrugged. “Honestly?” He made a face and then smiled sheepishly with another shrug.

“Yeah, we’re not playing that game,” Dean said firmly. He nodded at the bowl, “And if you don’t eat that, I’ll feed you myself. I did it for years, I can do it again.”

“I’ve got it,” he huffed, taking a small bite.

Dean ignored the tone, “Good. Keep at it and I’ll make the list. Do you need anything in particular?”

“We need more laundry detergent and we’re getting low on toothpaste. And I need more razors.”

Writing those down, he quickly started writing down other items. “Did you find a used bookstore?”

Sam smiled, “Yeah and it’s close to a regular grocery store so easy in, easy out.”

“Perfect.”

“Be right back,” Sam said as his brother studied the frozen pizza selection. “And if you’re going to get pizza, we need mozzarella cheese, too.”

Glancing at him, Dean asked, “Where are you going? Everything OK?”

Sam made a face, “I’m fine, just need to hit the head. Back in a minute and I’ll get the cheese.”

He studied him for a moment before nodding, “OK, if you’re sure.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head slightly. “I’m fine, relax, dude, and pick out a couple of pizzas.” He turned and walked back to the front of the store, thankful he had driven them again and had the car keys in his pocket.

Shutting the car off at the house two hours later, Sam glanced at his brother in the passenger seat. “Why don’t you grab the books and I’ll get the groceries. You look wiped out.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said automatically. 

Sam laughed, “Dude, you all but fell asleep while I was driving from the grocery store to back here … a whole 20 minutes. You’re wiped out.”

“Shut up, I’m fine,” he shot back as he slowly got out of the car. The quick hit of cold air sent him into a coughing fit. Holding on to the top of the car for a moment he glared as Sam stepped out of the car.

Holding up his hands, he said, “I’m not saying anything … but … grab the bag of books and I’ll get the groceries.”

“Ass,” Dean muttered, opening the back door and swiping the plastic bag filled with books. As normal, they traded in the ones they were finished reading and picked up another dozen or so new ones. Forcing himself not to cough again, he quickly punched in the door code and let them into the house, only slightly tempted to shut the door after him and lock his brother out.

“Ignoring you,” Sam shot back, gathering the plastic grocery bags into his arms and following him inside. “Go sit down, please. You look like hell.”

Dropping the bag on the dining room table, Dean smiled, “At least for me it’s temporary …”

Sam rolled his eyes, concentrating on putting away the groceries. He smiled a moment later as he heard the TV come on. Quietly opening the back door again, he went out and pulled a grocery bag out of the trunk. Carrying it carefully back inside, he gently shut the door and tucked the bag into an out of the way bottom cabinet. Returning to his task of putting away the food a minute later, he grinned, pleased with himself. Glancing out the window a moment later, he froze at the sight of a very distinct cloud of mist slowly drifting near their car and toward the fire pit at the edge of the parking pad. Taking two steps into the living room, he closed his mouth, stopping himself from calling to his brother as he saw the other man with his eyes closed, head back, on the sofa. Going back into the kitchen, he stood by the window and watched the misty shape move too deliberately to be natural. 

It paused for a moment by the car and then slowly made its way toward the fire pit where it once again paused for several long moments.

As it drifted slightly back toward the house, Sam’s hand instinctively reached for the large container of salt they had left sitting on the counter. The windows had been salted yesterday but the back door, the main door they were going in and out of, hadn’t been taken care of. The ghost had never been reported in the house and, until now, neither one had felt the need to bar the door. The mist paused about 15 feet from the house and Sam felt it was almost looking at him through the window. Feeling a strange connection, he raised his hand and waved.

“What are you waving at?”

Sam jumped and turned as Dean walked into the kitchen. Glancing back outside, he saw the mist had completely disappeared. “Our ghost showed up for a moment,” he said quietly. “I thought you were asleep?”

“Really? Where? What did it look like?” he asked, coming over and standing next to his brother by the window.

Sam shrugged again, “Just like the reports said … a fairly well formed cloud of mist, like a cloud but more human-ish shaped.” He nodded outside, “It just sort of appeared near the car and drifted around for a few minutes. It came within about 15 feet of the house and it seemed to be … looking at me.”

Dean glanced at him, “And you waved?”

He laughed, “Yeah, I guess so. It was just there and … I waved.”

Laughing softly, he shook his head, “Well, let me know if you see it again or if starts waving back.” He bumped his brother gently, “Good to know that Dr. Gray’s friend isn’t as crazy as you.”

Sam rolled his eyes, following his brother into the living room and asking, “Are your prescriptions still in the bedroom?”

Deliberately ignoring the question, he began to casually flip through the various TV channels, looking for something to watch. 

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head and, picking up the bag of books off the dining room table, walked back to the bedroom they were sharing. Returning a minute later, he held out the thermometer. “Here, open up.”

Dean glared, “What’s for lunch, Florence?”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he said. “Here …”

Taking the thermometer, he made a face. “I fully expect you to eat a whole sandwich,” he said firmly.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Sam said with a smile and then laughed as his brother made a face. “So many, many times I’ve wanted to say that …” Pulling it free after it beeped, he smiled slightly. “Hey good news!”

“Told you I wasn’t sick,” Dean shot back.

“No, you’re still running a fever but it’s lower, which is great.” He shrugged as his brother sighed, “Hey, with us, right now? Let’s celebrate the little things.”

“Little wins are still wins,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the TV.

“Chill, watch TV, and I’ll go cook lunch.” 

“Don’t overcook the sandwiches, Sammy,” he countered.

Sam sighed, “I can manage opening the deli container of soup and making grilled cheese. Been doing it for years …”

“And over cooking the sandwiches for years,” he said with a grin. “They should be lightly browned, toasted, melty, not dark brown and crispy.”

“You’ll eat what’s in front of you and like it!” Sam said, trying to do an impression of their father but failing in the dead panned, stern delivery by smiling and laughing at the end. 

Dean laughed, shaking his head, “God … don’t remind me. Burnt bologna and cheese on the hot plate making the whole room reek … or way too much cayenne in the stew…”

Groaning, Sam clutched his stomach with a laugh, “And always too much cayenne in everything. Do you remember … I think we were in … someplace in Wisconsin …”

Dean laughed, “The beerfest that I snuck you into over Memorial Day?”

“I got so drunk …” Sam said with a smile.

“On two beers!” he said, interrupting. “Two! God, what a lightweight, but at least you were a happy drunk.”

Sam shook his head, “I was barely 17! You should have been happy I was a lightweight at 17!”

“Yeah, especially since I had to all but carry your ass back to the car!”

“Dad was so pissed when he came home early that night because we were gone and I was so hung over the next morning but tried to play it off like food poisoning or something.”

Dean laughed, “As if Dad believed a word of that.” He grinned, “I still remember how that stew smelled … you could just smell the pepper and cayenne from across the room. You were a trooper though …”

He shook his head, “It was a contest of wills, especially at 17 … who was going to break first … him or me.” Giving a small embarrassed shrug, he said, “I got a whole bowl of that stuff down, declared myself cured thanks to the marvelous cure-all of kitchen sink stew, and left for the library or some such nonsense.”

“And went to find a hole to curl up and die in, if I remember correctly,” Dean said with a smile, remembering finding his younger brother literally curled up on a park bench not too far from the hotel they were staying in 30 minutes later. “The noises you were making … sick warthog impression, for sure, Sammy.” 

Sam snorted softly, shaking his head at the memory and then grinning at his brother. “At least we had fun together at the beerfest.”

He laughed, “We did and that’s all that counts, in the end.”

Nodding, he said, “Yeah.”

Shaking out Dean’s pills from the prescription bottles 20 minutes later, Sam tried hard to distract himself from the idea of lunch. He knew it was silly, knew he just had to power through it like he had been doing for so long. Powering through, ignoring the discomfort or fear, and getting the job done … pretty much the Winchester Motto, he thought. He glanced over at his brother and smiled. Dean was studiously ignoring him and focusing 100% on some old movie playing on the TV. Putting the pills by one of the places at the table, he went into the kitchen for the food and glanced out the window, freezing for a moment at the sight of the returned mist. “It’s back,” he called softly, moving toward the window.

“Really?” Dean said from the living, shutting off the TV quickly and coming into the kitchen. Looking out the window, he watched it for a moment before saying, “Huh … yeah, I’d say that’s not some natural phenomenon.”

The mist stayed by the fire pit, at the edge of the parking lot, for a long moment before slowly but deliberately drifting towards the woods behind the house. Before it reached the edge of the trees, it faded into nothing and disappeared. 

Sam made a low hmmm noise at the back of his throat and glanced at his brother with a shrug. “I’ll dig into that paperwork we got from Dr. Gray and her friend and see if that’s its normal route or routine,” he said. 

He nodded, “Yeah. We can go out after lunch and look around, too.”

Peering up at the gray skies, Sam said, “Yeah, assuming it doesn’t rain. You don’t need to be out in the cold and rain. It’s not that high priority that it can’t wait a day, Dean.”

“Seriously, dude?”

Ignoring his brother, Sam turned back to the stove and grabbed the plates, flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches onto the plates. “Here, make yourself useful and bring these down to the table.”

He grabbed the plates with a bow, “Your wish is my command, good sir.”

Sam laughed, ladling out the soup and trying hard not to think about actually eating it. Bringing the two bowls into the dining area, he nodded at the pills as he sat down. “Take those before you eat.”

Dean glared at him, “How much longer are you going to keep up this nurse routine, Sam?” Picking up the sandwich he took a bite, “Good job with these, by the way. Perfectly grilled.”

He smiled, “Good and as for how long?” He picked up the antibiotics bottle and gave it a small shake. “Until these, at least, are all gone. So … 10 days or so, I’d guess. You can voice your opinion on Monday with Dr. Gray.”

Nodding at the food in front of his brother, Dean said, “I’ll make a deal with you …”

Sam sighed, “What, Dean? Just take the damn pills, it’s not that difficult.”

Ignoring him, he continued. “I’ll take one of these when you eat half that sandwich. I’ll take another one when you finish it. The same with the soup … half a bowl for each pill.”

“That’s stupid,” he countered. “And not the same thing, at all. You’re actually sick. You’re running a fever and fighting off pneumonia. That’s way too important to be playing games with.”

He shrugged, eating a spoonful of soup. “I’m not playing but, like we’ve established, if you’re allowed to worry about me, I’m allowed to worry about you. Quid pro quo, bro.” He smiled at the rhyme and gave Sam another shrug. “You need to eat, you need to sleep …”

“You need to take your damn pills, too,” Sam shot back with an angry shake of his head. “You’ve been out of the clinic a whole 24 hours, we’re not screwing this up already.”

“I will when you will,” he said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. Chewing, he watched his brother struggle with the decision in front of him. “I call first dibs on that Tom Clancy book we picked up,” he said after a long moment. “I loved those things when I first read them.” Years of experience had taught him that his brother always needed space to make up his own mind. He couldn’t push, he couldn’t demand or the younger man would simply dig in his heels and refuse to move. It was a lesson their father had never learned or refused to learn and that had cost them all too many years together. Instead, he simply laid out the deal and then backed away … giving his brother the space he needed to decide on his own.

Sam stared at him for a long moment before picking up the sandwich and, trying hard not to think about what could be hidden between the bread, took a small bite. It was warm and buttery and crispy and tasted so good in his mouth. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused his mind on how many other grilled cheese sandwiches they had eaten over the years and not the last month’s worth of hallucinations and torments. Taking another bite, he nodded, “Tom Clancy is good, it’s a shame most of the movies never did them justice.”

He shrugged, eating more soup, “I liked the Harrison Ford ones, though. I bet he’d make a great hunter.” 

Sam laughed, “So if Chuck’s books get made into movies, that’s who you want to play you?” Refusing to give into his fears, he took a large bite of soup without looking for hidden horrors to emerge from the bowl. 

“Yeah, in about 30 years,” Dean countered. “Let’s see … who would make a good Dean Winchester of today ….” Watching his brother slowly eat, he smiled to himself, pleased that his ploy had worked and proud at how well he still knew the younger man, despite all their problems.

He was on page 4 of his book when he heard Sam’s breathing change to the steady, low pattern he knew indicated the younger man had fallen asleep already. Smiling to himself, he turned the page and continued to read. The bedroom was dim, thanks to the rain pouring down outside, and warm and he was content to lay in bed, reading, and listening to his brother sleep. It had taken almost 40 minutes for them to finish lunch but Sam had eaten most of his and he had stayed true to his word, taking each pill at regular intervals. It had been relaxed and easy and they had sat around the table afterwards discussing Chuck and his books, the craziness of Becky, and if Chuck would dare to hold another Supernatural Convention after the disaster - and threats of violence - of the last one, for another 30 minutes. Sam had started to fade an hour later as they sat on the sofa and watched a movie on TV. With just enough arguing to save his pride, he had allowed himself to be bullied into once again taking a nap, too. Now that Sam was safely asleep, he felt he could put down his book, shut the light off, and relax himself. The younger man had asked, once again, not to be allowed to sleep too long and he had agreed, once again lying and fully intending to let his brother sleep as long as his body wanted.

Sitting at the kitchen island that evening watching Dean cook, the folder of research open in front of him but ignored, Sam asked, “When did you learn to make meatballs?”

Glancing up from the bowl he was mixing, he grinned and gave a half shrug. “I don’t know … I made us spaghetti and meatballs lots of times growing up, when we had a kitchen.”

“Yeah but those were usually frozen,” he countered, sipping at a glass of water. “Now, you’re mixing up two types of meat, adding stuff, baking … the whole nine yards.”

Dean shrugged again, turning back to the bowl. “Ben liked them and they were easy to make up on Sundays, freeze half, eat the rest during the week. Lisa made them from her mom’s recipe and taught me,” he said after a long pause. “We’d do a lot of cooking on Sundays so it was easy during the week.” 

“That’s smart,” he said evenly. They had spoken very little of the year his brother spent living with Lisa and Ben, just bits and pieces and random comments that slowly faded away as the other man pushed down and then locked up those memories. Then, after the attack by Crowley and his demons, he had respected Dean’s wishes to never discuss them again.

Still not looking at him, Dean gave a small smile and shrugged again, forming the mixture into balls and putting them on a baking sheet. “Yeah, with her schedule and mine, it was easier. This way I could get dinner going if she had a late class or if Ben had a game that one of us needed to take him to.” He glanced at his brother and gave another embarrassed shrug, “You know, just like us … too many things on the schedule, you do what you can to keep it all somewhat organized to control the chaos.” 

“Yeah, I get that.”

“What’s on TV tonight,” he asked a minute later.

Sam got up, understanding clearly that the sharing and caring portion of their evening was over, “I don’t know but let me go look on the guide. It’s Thursday …”

“Oh! Person of Interest, I think,” Dean said loudly so his brother could hear him in the next room. “I swear, I think Frank is a writer for that show.”

Sam laughed, “Does seem to be very much on the nose with what we’re dealing with now, doesn’t it?” Flipping on the guide, he said, “Yeah … you’re right. And got to love Central Time Zone, it’s on at 8:00 and then The Mentalist is on at 9:00, instead of 10:00, which is nice.”

“Yeah, even with your nap, Sammy, I don’t think you’d make it to 11:00!”

Coming back into the kitchen and his seat at the island, he snorted, “As if you weren’t right next to me, fast asleep as well.” He held up a hand as Dean started to protest, “Don’t even … I saw you this afternoon when I woke up and you were fast asleep.”

“Only because I was bored!” he protested, feeling weirdly embarrassed. “You were asleep, there was nothing on TV, it was raining …”

“And you’re still sick,” Sam said evenly. “It’s OK to admit that, Dean. If it’s OK for me to take an hour long siesta in the middle of the day, why can’t you do the same?”

“I’m barely sick and someone has to keep an eye out for things,” he said, finishing up the meatballs and turning to the sink to wash his hands. “What if the ghost came in the house? What if Dick and his minions figure out where we are?” Washing his hands, he shrugged, “Old habits die hard.”

“I get it, man but if something happens, then we’ll deal, just like we always do,” he said, nodding toward the salt line now in front of the back door that Dean had laid down just after lunch. “We are totally off the grid, using cash for stuff, I can’t imagine how Dick could trace us or why he’d bother. If we’re not bothering him, I think he has bigger fish to fry. I think we’re as safe as we can get without going to ground in some top secret bunker somewhere.”

Putting the baking sheet in the oven and setting the timer, he shrugged. Turning back toward his brother, he said, “Since you’re being fussy right now, you tell me what you want to eat with my award winning meatballs. We have spaghetti and we have hoagie rolls. What do you feel like? Spaghetti and meatballs or meatball sandwiches?”

Sam smiled, “Let’s not cover up these award winning meatballs with bread. I vote for spaghetti and letting them shine.”

Dean laughed, “Good choice! I’ll make sauce for us next time but tonight, it’s coming from a jar.”

“You make tomato sauce, too?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “Another family recipe?” he asked cautiously.

“Alton Brown, Good Eats,” he said, giving another embarrassed shrug. “It was a cool show and not all fru fru and doilies and weird ass food no one would actually eat, like a lot of them! The dude actually made corn dogs in one episode.” Turning back to the cabinet to grab a pot for boiling the pasta, he added, “It’s a bit spicy so we might want to wait until your tolerance is a bit higher.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said evenly. “And I would never imagine you would watch a fru fru cooking show, man.”

Dean smiled, glancing at his brother, “Damn straight.” Nodding at the open folder in front of him, he said, “What does that say about our misty mystery?”

“Our misty mystery mister?” Sam asked, lobbing the joke back and smiling as Dean laughed. “Not much, actually. The property was given to a solider, a Nathaniel Cameron, from the Revolutionary War by the new US government probably as payment for his service during the war and to help encourage European settlement in the area.” Nodding out toward the woods, he said, “Get this, we may have some luck because there’s a family cemetery in the woods with about 15 or so marked graves. But, of course, there are probably more out there and the makers have just rotted away or fallen down or whatnot … so who knows how big it is and who is actually there and where exactly they are.”

“Which means any digging, salting, and burning is going to be a bitch,” Dean commented dryly.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Plus, we don’t know if we’re actually looking at a Cameron family member. This whole area has a long, bloody history … ongoing fights with Native Americans, displaced tribes, the Civil War, just your regular, run of the mill fights.” He shrugged, “Honestly, it could be anyone or even a collection of multiple ghosts.”

Dean sighed, pouring salt into the water and turning it on to boil. “Until we lay eyes on it, we might not know. Has anyone actually seen anything besides mist?”

“Yeah, several have reported seeing a guy but no clear description and certainly no details on what he was wearing or what he looked like.” He shrugged, “You know how people are, they are either too afraid or too afraid of looking crazy that they don’t get into details.” He grinned, “The weather looks nice on Sunday, it’s going to be warmer and clear … I vote for pulling out the marshmallows and sitting out at the fire pit for a while and see if we get a visitor.”

“We need beer,” Dean said. 

“No beer, no drinking,” Sam said. “That’s like in all caps and bold on both our sheets from Dr. Gray and we’re going to follow her instructions, until at least Monday.” He grinned, “I’ll make us hot chocolate, you like hot chocolate.” 

Dean laughed, “Yeah, I do.” Dumping in spaghetti, he gave it a quick stir in the boiling water before saying, “And hot dogs. We need to do a menu anyway for next week and I bet the grocery stores are nice and empty on Sunday mornings in the bible belt.”

He grinned, “I’m sure. Remember the few months we spent in Mississippi … maybe 1993 or ’94?”

Dean thought for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, near Hattiesburg, I think. Dad was after a lady in white and then a few other things, I think. We were there for a good four or five months. I took driver’s ed there, so it must have been ‘94.” Glancing at his brother, he grinned, “I was the best in the class.”

“Sounds about right and considering you had been driving for a good year at the point, I’m not surprised,” Sam agreed, laughing. “But I remember every single time we’d meet a neighbor, the first question out of their mouths was …”

“ ‘What church do you all go to?’ ” Dean said, interrupting with another laugh.

“Y’all go to,” Sam corrected, grinning. “And then the second question …”

“ ‘ Why don’t you all … y’all come with me to my church this Sunday?’ ” Dean said in a fake and high pitched southern accent. He coughed harshly and shook his head, both at the cough and the memories. “So sick of coughing all the time,” he muttered. “But those church ladies could cook, I don’t think that we ever ate as well as we did there.”

Sam nodded, “Oh yeah, once they found out about Mom … and a struggling single father …” He laid his hand on his chest and make a sympathetic face. “Just … you dear boys …”

“Bless your hearts,” Dean said in the fake southern voice again, grinning at his brother. Stirring the pasta again, he shook his head, “Damn good fried chicken though … there’s got to be some place around here that makes good fried chicken, wouldn’t you think?”

“I’m sure,” Sam confirmed. He took another sip of water and smiled, watching his brother easily move around the kitchen, cooking for them, and imagining him doing the same as he slipped into Lisa and Ben’s lives for a year.

Dean nodded at the cabinets, “Make yourself useful, Sammy, and set the table, please.” The order came out absent mindedly, said without real thought and the result of almost two decades of muscle memory. 

He grinned, getting up, feeling instantly transported to countless apartments and hotels over the years with Dean cooking and him responsible for setting the table and cleaning up. 

“Happy birthday!” Sam said, grinning two hours later as he carried a pie with a lit candle stuck in the middle out to the living room where they were watching TV. “A couple of days late but hey … pie.”

Dean laughed, “Seriously, Sammy?” 

“Of course, dude! I admit, I sort of lost track of time but it hit me yesterday when I was looking at our discharge papers from Dr. Gray but didn’t want to say anything then,” he explained. “I know you don’t like to be the center of attention and stuff but still …” He smiled, putting down the pie before sitting down on the couch next to him. “I didn’t want to not celebrate, either.”

He shook his head, smiling, “Cool, thanks Sam. Looks good.”

“Blow out the candle and then we’ll carve this sucker up,” he said. “It’s apple … nothing special but…”

“Apple is perfect!” Leaning forward he studied the candle for a moment before saying, “Is that ancient Hindu?”

“Just blow it out,” Sam said. “Ellen gave it to me years ago, after we took out that killer clown and it’s been rolling around in the bottom of the supply case since then.”

Dean looked over at him, “And you stuck it in my pie?”

“I washed it first!” he said laughing.

He laughed and nodded, “Works for me.” Leaning forward, he took as deep of a breath as possible and blew out the candle while Sam clapped. Grinning, he nodded, “Let’s cut this sucker up!”

Sam laughed, “Yep and now we have pie for a couple of days.” 

Reaching out, Dean looped an arm around his brother’s neck and pulled him close, “Thanks Sam. This is perfect. I even got my birthday wish early.”

“Good,” he said softly, hugging his brother back. “Good, me too,” he repeated softly.

OOooOOooOOoo

Armed with a grocery list on Sunday morning, they moved with practice ease around the store, each with their own items and way of tackling the list. Sam pushed the cart and went up and down the aisles while Dean, always the hunter, went off for specific items in the more far flung areas of the store. He stood in line at the deli for cold cuts while Sam spent time in the produce section. After years of practice, they were a well-oiled machine and moved through the store quickly. 

The only glitch in the machine came when Sam was walking past the deli area and the scent of rotisserie chicken hit him, making his stomach roll and visions of the pit assaulted him full on. Luckily, Dean had been elsewhere and he had been able to make it to the bathroom before he was sick. Hunched over in a toilet stall, he groaned and threw up twice, trying hard not to wish for his brother. He knew Dean would understand, be 100% sympathetic, but he was also unwilling to deal with that sympathy, worry, and added stress when neither one of them were fully on their game.

“Here, I’ll take the cart back, go ahead and get in the car,” Sam said, ignoring the dull ache in his stomach, as they finished loading the bags into the backseat 30 minutes later. 

“I can walk back across the parking lot,” Dean shot back, grabbing the cart. 

Sam shook his head and pulled the cart closer to himself. “I know you can,” he said firmly, emphasizing the word, “but why? I can do it, too.”

“Because I’m not an invalid!” he said, grabbing the cart and wrestling it free. “I’m perfectly capable of walking across the parking lot and putting it back.” Unlike his brother, he had no problem getting into a fight in the middle of the parking lot on who was taking back the cart. He glared at the other man, daring him to try to grab it back.

“At least just take it to the corral,” Sam countered, nodding at the holding area in the middle of the parking spaces. They had parked halfway down the parking lot to avoid being too close to other cars and prying eyes. 

He frowned and began walking the cart toward the store.

Sam shook his head, getting in the car and slowly driving to the front of the store just as Dean was coming back out. He didn’t say anything as the other man slid into the passenger seat, panting slightly. 

“Shut up,” he said firmly, looking ahead and struggling not to cough.

Handing him a bottle of water from the house, Sam said, “Not saying anything, man.”

“I can hear your thoughts from here.” Giving in, he coughed harshly several times before glancing at his brother, waiting to pounce on any stray comments or off look.

At that, he laughed, “Drink some water, jerk.”

He shook his head, drinking deeply and muttered, “Bitch.”

“Still seems like a waste to have bought firewood,” Dean said, eying the small pile some guys had delivered yesterday and stacked neatly near the firepit. They had gone out to lunch the day before and drove around, getting familiar with the area, the stores, and various routes to the interstates. A stand a few miles away had advertised wood for sale and delivery and Sam had pulled in and arranged for a small delivery.

Sam ignored him, refusing to have the same conversation as the day before. The sky was clear blue, without a cloud in the sky, and while the temperatures weren’t warm, it was certainly comfortable enough with jackets on and sitting by a fire. “Do you want to get the fire started or do you want to continue to show off your culinary skills and get food?” Pushing aside the memories of this morning’s incident, he forced himself to focus instead of the other meals they had shared in the last few days and his desire to prevent his brother from wondering if anything was wrong. 

Dean laughed, “Not sure that a lunch of hot dogs, chips, and s’mores need much skill but knock yourself out with the fire, if you want. You were always better at that then me.”

He smiled, “Well, you and Dad would haul all this wood back to camp and then leave me … I had to get good.”

“Once!” Dean protested with mock outrage. “We left you once in the woods overnight!”

Sam looked at him in disbelief. “Please, Dean … don’t even. It was a lot more than that. Hell, I remember one hunt where you both were gone for three nights in a row and I was left holding down the camp in a crappy, leaking tent during what I would swear was a monsoon. The rain, the mud, the bugs and crawly things that were trying to get out of the rain.” He gave an exaggerated shudder, “Even after normal hunts, Dad would stumble back in at dawn, you dragging behind him, both demanding coffee and food and me slaving over an open fire.”

He shook his head, “I don’t remember that at all, dude. Maybe twice … tops.”

The younger man held up five fingers and said, “At least five separate times in 1998, that I remember and haven’t blocked out in self-preservation. Miserable ass summer…”

Dean shook his head, “You missed your calling as a fiction writer. No way did that happen.” He coughed lightly before shaking his head again, “But regardless … I’ll go get food and you can get the fire started.”

“When you’re in there, take your antibiotics too,” Sam said. 

Not looking back, Dean waved his hand.

“I’m serious!” Sam shot back. “Just because you’re not running much of a fever doesn’t mean you’re not still sick.”

“I heard you, Florence,” he said loudly. Closing the door behind him, he sighed quietly and coughed loudly and deeply. He refused to do it in front of his brother, hating to continue to appear sick and in need of what his father would call coddling. Knowing there was no way to get around it, he shook out two of the antibiotics and quickly downed them with a swig of water from the tap. After taking it easy for the last several days, he was happy though to feel as if he – they both – had turned a corner. 

Coming into the kitchen Sam asked, “Need help? I wanted to get a pitcher of water to have nearby just in case. The hose and outside faucets have been turned off for the winter.”

“No, I’m good,” he said and held up the prescription bottle, shaking it slightly. “And taken, if that’s what you’re really in here to check on.”

He laughed, “No but I appreciate it.” Filling up a large plastic water pitcher, he held the door while Dean carried a tray of food and supplies out to the pit and small fire.

“Looks good, Sammy,” he said, nodding his approval at the fire. The house had come equipped with long, insulated metal forks and he quickly thread 2 hot dogs onto sticks. Placing the foil wrapped buns on the edge, he sat down and handed a stick to his brother who sat down next to him. It was peaceful out there, quiet except for the crackling of the fire and he felt himself relax.

“Don’t get to do this when we’re stuck in hotels,” Sam said softly after a few minutes.

Dean glanced at him, “We could bring hot dogs and marshmallows the next time we do a salt and burn.” He grinned and laughed as his brother rolled his eyes. “No, I know what you mean. I was just thinking how nice it was, too.”

Rotating his stick, Sam glanced at him and nodded. “Maybe …” he started before falling silent and shrugging. “Never mind.”

“Spit it out, Sammy. Maybe … what?”

“Don’t laugh or make a joke, OK, man?” he said, quickly, looking at his brother. 

Dean smiled, “I won’t. I will fully respect this sharing moment you are going for here.”

“Don’t be an ass!” Sam shot back and huffed. “Forget it.”

“Awww,” he said with a laugh, moving his foot and lightly kicking his brother. He smiled as Sam jerked his foot away with a small chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m just teasing you. What were you going to say?”

Sam sighed and glanced at him, “I was just thinking we have the insurance from Bobby’s house and probably the sale of the salvage yard coming and whatever else he had in his accounts. Everything he had was owned by a couple of shell companies that we are now the only ones with access to.” He watched his brother’s reaction for a moment before continuing, “I was just thinking how, maybe when all this mess with Dick and the Leviathans are over, might be nice to maybe look at buying something … like this. Small, out of the way, private.” Looking around the property, he said quietly, “I’m tired and I know you are, too. I’m not saying give up hunting or anything but maybe have a home base, at least.”

Turning his attention back to the fire and moving his hot dog, Dean slowly nodded after a long moment. “It’s been ….” His voice trailed off and he swallowed and coughed once. “It’s been a rough year,” he finally said.

“It’s been a series of rough years,” Sam said, glancing at him. When his brother didn’t say anything, he fell silent again.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally. He coughed again and pulled his hot dog out of the fire. “Looks good to me.” Standing up, he picked up the buns and moved to the table to fix his food. “Here, Sammy. Give me yours and I’ll do it.”

Passing over his hot dog, he said, “Thanks.” He smiled as he watched Dean make his food exactly how he wanted, no questions needed … mustard and relish, being careful not to get any of the pickle juice with the relish pieces which, in his opinion, just turned the bun soggy. Taking it from him a minute later, he smiled, “Perfect.”

Dean smiled at him, sitting down and stretching out his legs toward the heat, feeling it start to ease the deep ache from the recent break that hadn’t completely heal before he had been forced to start using it again. “We’ll finish up my birthday pie tonight, probably, so I think I’m going to make one of the pies Bonnie gave me the recipe for some time tomorrow,” he said evenly. “Got any request?”

He nodded, “If you feel up to it, I’m all in favor of pie. What recipes did she give you?”

Slowly pouring water over the all but dead fire two hours later, Dean said, “I guess our Mystery Mist didn’t feel like putting in an appearance today.”

Sam slowly got up and yawned, “Guess not. We can try again tomorrow afternoon or early evening.” Loading up the tray with the left-over food stuff, he said, “I’ll read through the research and see if I can get a sense if there’s a pattern on the days or times he appears the most often.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, following his brother into the house. He glanced at the clock, “Nap time, boys and girls!”

“You know the rules,” Sam countered evenly as he opened the refrigerator and put back the relish, mustard, and ketchup. He glanced over when Dean didn’t say anything and gave the other man a half shrug. “Just saying …”

Dean stared at him hard, “Don’t be stupid, Sam.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who keeps trying to change the rules.”

“That’s because it’s stupid!”

Sam shrugged again, “OK.” Closing the refrigerator, he walked into the main room and grabbed the research folder and legal pad off the side table. He pulled out a dining table chair and, glancing at his brother hovering in the doorway between the two rooms, sat down, pulling the materials close to him and his laptop. “Are you going to get started on the pie instead of waiting until tomorrow?”

“Don’t be stupid, Sam,” he repeated. “You were actually asleep by the fire for a few minutes, earlier!”

Sam smiled slightly at him before flipping open the folder as he said, “Then I guess I don’t need to sleep now.” Sneezing quietly, he turned his attention to the materials in front of him an began to read silently as the laptop booted up. 

Dean watched him for a moment before muttering something under his breath and stalking back into the kitchen. Jerking open the refrigerator door, he glared at the contents and wished they had beer. He slammed it shut a second later and went back to the doorway. “Why won’t you be smart about this, Sam?”

“Me?” he shot back, looking up from the research he wasn’t reading. “I’m not being smart? You’re the one not being smart and insisting on being stubborn!” He glared at his brother, “I told you … I’m more than happy to lay down and read or sleep or whatever, as long as you do the same.” He waved his hand in around, “This is for both of us, Dean … both of us. I’m not the only one who needs to recover, here. I’m not the only who needs a break and some down time. You are legitimately sick … fever, coughing, germs, the whole nine yards.”

“I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Sam said, matching his brother’s tone and volume. “You were out of breath walking the cart back to the store this morning. That’s not fine, even with our warped definition and really low bar.”

Dean waved it off, “You’re exaggerating things, Sam. I’m fine.”

“Whatever, dude,” he said, shaking his head. 

“You’re not fine though and you need to rest. It’s been a bad year for you …” He motioned toward the end table and the stack of instructions from Dr. Gray. “That’s exactly what those say, it’s not just me saying it.”

Sam glared at him, “And yours say the exact same thing, Dean. I’m not making it up either and the last couple of years haven’t been a walk in the park for you.” He eyed his brother, “Or you want to tell me that your life was all milk and honey while you were with Lisa? Or how you’ve been dealing with my breakdown? Or Bobby’s death? Because that would be a tale straight of the Grimm Brother’s playbook.”

“You’re still not eating enough,” he said, pivoting. “I saw how much … how little of your hot dog you actually ate. I’d guess maybe half, if I was being generous. I saw how much you threw in the trash when you thought I wasn’t looking.” He smiled slightly, “You did the same thing as a kid if you didn’t like something and you don’t think I know your tricks by now?”

“I’m eating fine and that’s not what we’re talking about.” He eyed him and then gave a shrug, turning back to the folder in front of him as he said, “You know your options.”

Dean watched him for a moment, silently debating about mentioning seeing his brother coming out of the bathroom at the grocery store that morning with red eyes and the slight smell of vomit on his breath, before shaking his head and heading back into the kitchen. Jerking open a drawer where he had stashed recipes from Bonnie, he grabbed them and threw them on the counter. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath and ended up giving a rough cough. Spitting into the sink, he jerked on the water and watched as the sink was quickly rinsed clean. Shutting it off, he bent over the counter and rested his head on his folded arms, trying hard not to worry. 

“Let’s just say we’re both right, both tired, need a break, and let it go,” Sam said quietly.

He looked up, surprised to see his brother suddenly standing in the kitchen and eyed the other man before giving a quick, short nodding jerk of his head. Simply deciding to stop fighting about something, to stop talking about something, was one of their time tested ways of dealing and it usually worked. 

“Great,” he said, turning and walking out of the kitchen and toward the bedrooms. Sliding into bed 10 minutes later with his book, he forced himself to keep his eyes firmly on the page in front of him as Dean, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, came in a few minutes later and slid into the other bed. 

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow,” he said, picking up his own book.

Sam nodded, “Sounds good.” Without thought or meaning to, he yawned deeply and sighed a minute later.

“I knew you were tired,” Dean said softly, not looking up from his own book. “And you’re eating all your dinner tonight, no excuses.”

Sam smiled and glanced at him, shaking his head as their eyes met. “Shut up and read your book.”

He waved it in the air, “What do you think I’m doing?”

Sniffling slightly, he closed his book and rolled over onto his side. “Don’t let me sleep too long, please.”

“Right.” Turning a page, he glanced over at his brother and smiled.

OOooOOooOO


	4. Chapter Four

“Sam …”

Sam rolled over, blinking awake in the suddenly bright room and looking around. Dean’s bed was empty, neatly made and looked untouched. “Dean?” he called out, raising his voice slightly as he sat up. 

“Sam.”

Looking around the room another time, he got out of bed and walked toward the half closed bedroom door. “Dean!” he yelled, opening the door wide and looking into the hallway. The house was quiet and he shivered slightly, glancing behind him and back into the empty bedroom. The sound of humming drifted down from the living room, causing him to jerk his head back in that direction. “Dean!” he yelled again. 

“There’s a lady who’s sure …”

“Dean, knock it off!” he yelled, walking down the hall. “That isn’t funny!” Coming into the front living room, he froze before screaming at the site of the large bonfire in the middle of the room and the sight of his brother, impaled on a massive spit, slowly rotating over the open flames. “Dean! No!”

“Sam, Sam, Sam … did you really think it would be that easy? When was anything that easy?”

“Dean! No!” he screamed again, rushing toward the bonfire and feeling the heat and the flames starting to singe his face. Reaching out, he tried to grab at the rotating handle but a sudden upswell of flame pushed him back. He sank to his knees, feeling his stomach twist as he screamed again. “No! Stop!”

“Really? Stop? Has that ever worked, Sam?”

Gritting his teeth, Sam looked up from the floor and directly at the bonfire and his brother’s body. “This isn’t real,” he said in a hoarse whisper, squeezing his scarred left palm. “This isn’t real.”

“Hmmm … interesting dilemma we find ourselves in,” the voice said. “How sure you are? And, really, Sam … does it matter if it’s real or not, when it feels real? Doesn’t feeling real make it real? How else do you define real?” The voice laughed before saying, “How about this? Does this feel real?” A second later, the flames shot forward, catching the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt on fire.

“Shut up!” Sam screamed, jerking up, hands batting at the flames crawling up his arm. Flinging himself backwards, away from the flames, he screamed again, falling as hands caught him, cushioning his fall to the floor.

“God! Sam!” Dean yelped, struggling to hold his brother in the dark bedroom in the early hours of Monday morning. “It’s OK, you’re OK.”

“Get it off!” he yelled, batting at his sleeve. “Put it out!”

Holding him tightly, Dean swiped his hand at the bedside lamps button, flicking one of them on and illuminating the room. “It’s OK. Nothing is on you, I promise.” Twisting slightly so he could look at the younger man, he shook him gently, “Sam, I promise … nothing is on you.”

Sam closed his eyes and took several shallow breaths before nodding slowly. “Nothing is on me; I’m not on fire. You’re not on fire.”

Suppressing a shudder of horror with his own immediate flashback, Dean forced himself to nod. “That’s right, nothing is on you and there’s no fire. You’re OK; you’re safe.”

Nodding again, he took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “OK. I’m OK. You’re OK.”

“Right, exactly. Everything’s OK.” Settling them more comfortably against the bed, he held him tight, feeling him shaking still. “Just us, Sam. Real and here, nothing else matters. Just us … we’re real.”

“Yeah,” he said, making no move to actually pull free or get up off the floor. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly, struggling hard not to fall down his own dark and fiery rabbit hole. Ten minutes later, he squeezed the younger man slightly and said, “How about something to drink and we’ll watch some TV for a bit? Or cards and see if you can finally beat me?” Despite the late hour, he didn’t think either one of them would be ready for bed or for the lights to be out again for a while. Luckily, the only thing on their schedule for later in the day was their check up with Dr. Gray.

Sam nodded, “Sounds good.”

“OK, then,” he said, pulling free and slowly standing up. Holding out his hand, he pulled his brother up gently. “You make better hot chocolate then me so I vote you do that while I get the cards and find something for us on TV.”

He smiled, “More penguins?”

Dean laughed, pushing him slightly toward the door. “Shut up, you thought they were cool!”

“Yeah, they were cool … even if they weren’t happy, dancing penguins.” He grinned as his brother laughed, gently bumping against him as they made their way down the hall.

“Hey doc,” Dean said with a smile, coming around the side of the car and walking toward the clinic’s porch in the twilight of Monday afternoon. 

“Hi boys,” Susan Gray said with a smile. “You’re both looking better.” Reaching out, she gave them each a quick hug. “Much better,” she repeated, leading the way into the clinic and into her office. Motioning for them to sit down, she sat across from them and smiled. “So, tell me how it’s going. How you’re feeling; what you’ve been up to … get me caught up on the last five days.”

Sam smiled at her and said, “Everything is great! I feel good, sleeping well, eating a lot. Great!” 

“Everything is great!” Dean said at almost the exact same time. He chuckled slightly, letting Sam finish before saying, “Like him, I’m sleeping, taking the antibiotics, haven’t been running a fever in days. Basically, back to normal.”

“Great,” Susan said with a grin and then laughed softly. “I know how this game is played and think you’ll both crack if I separate you,” she said with a smile. Motioning toward the door as she stood up, she said, “Sam, I’m going to get Allison to draw some blood so we can see how everything is looking now that you’re eating and sleeping better. Go into Exam Room 1 for me and I’ll send her in. Dean, I want to hear how your lungs are sounding so, head into #2 for me and I’ll be with you in a moment. There’s a robe on the table, so just take off your shirt for me and you can put that on, please.” 

Dean bowed slightly, “Your wish is my command.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he met Susan’s eyes and he laughed and shrugged. “Told you, we’re both feeling much better.”

Knocking on Exam Room 2 a few minutes later and hearing Dean tell her to come in, she smiled at him sitting on the table in front of her. “So kid, give me the full story. What’s going on?”

He smiled and shrugged. “Honestly, Doc, I’m good. Still coughing a bit but not bad and Sam’s been playing Florence Nightingale and making sure that I take all my pills basically on time. I haven’t had a fever in like two days … he could tell you, complete with chart.”

She smiled at that, “He emailed it to me this morning.”

Dean laughed and shook his head, “Sam was always the A+ student.”

“And how are you sleeping?”

He nodded again, “Good. Sam seems to be reverting back to when he was three and refuses to lay down unless I lay down with him in the afternoon. So, we both crash for an hour or so … he sleeps, I read …” His voice trailed off as he shrugged again, suddenly embarrassed.

“What?” she asked, reading something in his expression but unsure what it was.

He shrugged again, “Just it’s nice. It’s quiet and peaceful. It’s a really nice break.” Suddenly remembering his manners, he smiled, looking up, “Please tell your friend thank you again from us. The house is great and we’ve been working on her ghost problem. We’ve seen it several times now and Sam has started some research to try to narrow it down.”

“Great!” Susan said, “I’ll tell her and give her your contact info so you all can hook up. I wanted to hold off on that until you were both more on the road to recovery but it sounds like things are going well.” She smiled, “I’m glad and you really are looking much better.”

“I feel better,” he said honestly. “Still get winded easily and I doubt I’d beat anyone who wasn’t under 90 in a race but I also don’t feel like I’m in danger of hacking up a lung.”

She nodded, “Good. You still have another week on your antibiotics so don’t get lazy and start slacking off on them just because you’re feeling better. They’re not causing you any stomach problems? Nausea? Diarrhea?”

He shook his head, “No, no problems at all.”

Reaching for her stethoscope, she nodded, “Good. Let me take a listen to you then and I’ll let you get out of here.” She stepped back several long moments later and smiled, “Much improved. I’m still hearing some, what we call crackling, and what you probably can feel as a tightness when you take deep breaths.” When he nodded, she said, “So clearly still clearing up but much better than a week ago. I expect the tightness and crackling to be gone by next week and basically back to full speed the week after that.” Reaching out, she tapped his knee, “But I still want you to take it easy the next few weeks. It’s cold, damp, lots of flu floating around, your immune system is still very weakened and you could pick up something very easily.” 

He nodded and gave a small shrug, “We’re not planning on going anywhere for several weeks. Plus, we want to solve your friend’s ghost problem.”

“I’m glad you’re sticking around, you need to,” she said firmly. “What time are you going to bed and getting up in the morning?”

“10:00ish, maybe 10:30 by the time we shut off the lights. And I am usually up before Sam, so maybe around 7:30.”

She nodded, “Good. That tells me that you are still making up some of your sleep deficit, in addition to still recovering. I want you to keep laying down in the afternoon.” She held up a hand as he started to protest, saying, “I don’t care if you sleep or read or lay there and count sheep. But it’s good for you to chill for a bit. You’ll know when it starts causing a problem sleeping at night, until then … enjoy the break.” She smiled, tapping him on the knee again, “Understand?”

Dean smiled, “Yes, ma’am. Sounds good.” Shifting slightly, he said, “Since we both agree I’m perfect, can we talk about Sam for a moment?”

She grinned and shook her head at him slightly, “Not sure I’d say that but what’s going on with your brother?”

“Eating is still sort of hit and miss, he’s thrown up at least twice that I know of and I think possibly a third time, and he’s still exhausted,” he said bluntly. “He’s better for sure but … I don’t know. He’s still struggling.”

Susan nodded slowly and then paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not surprised, Dean. His body has been through a lot. We might think that not sleeping isn’t a huge deal … we all have nights where we don’t sleep well and, as adults, we just deal with it. A little extra coffee in the morning, going to bed early the next night or sleeping in a bit on the weekends …”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“Sam, though, was dealing with it for a month. Plus, hallucinations, plus eating issues which led to nutritional issues and imbalances, which then cause further problems.” She paused again, letting her words sink in. “All the little problems don’t immediately go away because the big problem – not sleeping – is fixed.” She gave a small smile, “But the fact that he’s sleeping again and eating and keeping it down the majority of the time is a very good thing, Dean.”

“I worry,” he said with a shrug. “He says I shouldn’t but I’ve been worrying about him his entire life and certainly not going to stop now.”

She laughed, “I get it and he worries about you, so I’m not sure he has any room to point fingers.”

Dean snorted, “Tell him that!” Turning more serious, he said, “Is there anything I can do to help him?”

“Small meals, nothing too heavy, and snacks throughout the day will help. Remember how Bonnie or Allison brought you apple slices and peanut butter crackers? Like that, just something to nibble on that’s not greasy, not too sweet or too much sugar, and some nutritional value to it. Plus, rest with him if that encourages him to lay down. Get a good book and stretch out on the couch or recliner or bed, whatever, keep the tv off, and just chill. It’s good for both of you.”

Feeling guilty about their fight the day before, he nodded. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” she said with a smile. “OK, go ahead and get dressed for me and I’m going to go check on him. I’ll meet you back in the waiting room when we’re done.” Knocking on the door of the other exam room a moment later, she stepped in and saw Allison chatting with Sam who was sitting in a chair, the drawn blood nestled in its containers.

The nurse glanced up and smiled, “I’ll let you go but it was good catching up with you, Sam.”

“You too,” he said with a smile before turning his attention to Susan. “Hi, Doc.”

Washing her hands, she smiled at him. “So, give me the full story, Sam. How are you doing?” Moving closer, she sat down in a rolling chair and looked at him when he didn’t answer. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” he said taking a deep breath before sniffling slightly and giving a small cough. “Think I’m doing OK. I’m sleeping a lot, eating much better for sure but just surprised at how tired I still am.” He gave her a half smile, “Like … I honestly could lay down on your table and probably be asleep in a couple of minutes even though I took a nap this afternoon before we came here.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said with a nod. “I don’t know that I’ve ever had a patient, hunter or not, who heals and recovers as fast as they think they should.” 

He laughed softly, “Probably not.”

“You said you’re eating better, which is good. Have you thrown up since you got out of here?”

Glancing at the floor for a second, he gave a small nod. “Yeah but only twice and one time, yesterday actually, was more …” He paused for a second, trying to figure out how to describe the incident to fit with the story she knew. “It was more of a flashback from some of the hallucinations I had been seeing and not real nausea, if that makes sense.” He sniffled again and shrugged.

“It does,” she said, leaning slightly closer to him. “I think it’s a very good sign that you’ve only thrown up once or twice. I know it may not seem like a big deal but considering where you were a week ago …” She smiled as he met her eyes and nodded. “We’re going to take all the victories we can get, right?” Standing up, she said, “But how long have you had this head cold?”

He groaned and made a face, “It started maybe yesterday or Saturday night. Dean is going to freak; he hasn’t noticed yet, probably because he’s still coughing a lot.” He glanced at her, “How’s he doing, by the way? He seems better to me.”

“He’s good, well on the road to recovery,” she said evenly. Pulling the electronic thermometer from its holder and wiping it down, she walked back over to him. “Here, let me check your temperature and just see what’s going on. I wouldn’t be shocked if Dean shared his germs with you.”

Sighing, he opened his mouth. When it beeped a minute later, he asked, “Did Dean get over his dislike of sharing?”

She laughed, “Well, you are running a low grade fever. Keep taking care of yourself, get some over-the-counter cold stuff and you should be fine within the week. You want a decongestant and an expectorant and we’ll make sure this stays in the Common Cold area and doesn’t develop into anything else.”

“I think Dean still has some stuff from when he was sick. I’ll check that out.”

“Good, just make sure it’s an expectorant and not a cough suppressant. In the meantime, you said you’re still tired but sleeping OK?” When he nodded, she said, “How long do you think you’re sleeping?”

He glanced at the floor for a second before looking up, “About hour in the afternoon, usually around 2:00 or so and then I go to bed around 10:30 and get up around 8:00. We both keep pretty much the same schedule. He seems to need the rest as much as I do.”

“He does,” she confirmed. “And that sounds good. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him … keep that schedule and pattern up. As long as the afternoon breaks aren’t interrupting your night sleep, you clearly need it. You’ll know when it starts messing you up or when you don’t fall asleep during the day. But you both have huge sleep deficits to make up and battling illnesses, so your body knows what you need.”

He laughed, “Probably better than we do.”

She grinned, “Yeah or at least is more honest about it. And, I also want you to eat a couple of snacks during the day and not chips or cookies. Think more like apple or orange pieces, peanut butter toast or crackers, apples with peanut butter, bananas, like that. It will help prevent nausea and you certainly could use the calories and nutrition.”

“Luckily, Dean likes to cook,” Sam said. “I’ll put him to the challenge.”

Susan nodded, “Good and I’ve told him the same thing.” She eyed him, “Anything else we need to talk about?”

“No, I’m good. And please, thank your friend for us for the house. It’s fantastic. We’ve seen her ghost a couple of times, already. I’ve started researching it and we’ve been mapping out a game plan for tackling it.”

She grinned, “I’ll do that and I told Dean, when he said the same thing, you boys were raised with good manners, that I’ll send along her contact information so you all can be in touch after you start feeling better. In the meantime, focus on yourself and each other and let’s make sure that your cold doesn’t get worse.” When he nodded, she smiled, standing up. “OK, good. Let’s go get your brother and wrap up. I’ll see you both in another week.”

“So … Dr. Gray thinks I might be getting a cold,” Sam said, glancing at Dean who had insisted on driving now that he had a ‘clean bill of health’.

The other man bit back a groan and just nodded. “OK, I’m not surprised. Did she give you a prescription we need to fill or does she want you to get something specific over-the-counter?” 

“Whatever you got yourself when you were getting sick earlier is fine, I’m sure.”

“Is that what she said or is that a guess?” he asked, glancing at his brother who was studying the landscape and avoiding eye contact. “So … guess or confirmed?” he asked again and then smiled. “I’m guessing it’s a guess based on your silence.”

“She said to make sure it was an expectorant, not a cough suppressant. What did you buy?”

“Suppressant, for sure,” Dean said without pause. “I was trying to stop coughing and didn’t care as long as I could keep moving.” He swallowed, remembering the 10 minute stop while rushing to Colorado in search of ‘Emmanuel’ at an all-night truck stop for gas, food, and something to stop the cough and headache that had been building for a couple of days at that point. Driving past the road their house was on, he said, “I think I got a combination of speed and NoDoz and all around suppressant.” He smiled and shook his head, “I’m not even 100% sure it’s legal in all 50 states …”

Sam laughed lightly, idly wondering if his brother had confessed that sin to Dr. Gray the week before. 

“No way would I be OK with you taking that,” Dean said, shaking his head. 

“Not a kid anymore, Dean.”

He snorted, turning into the drug store, “As if that matters.” Shutting off the car, he said, “Stay here. I’ll go in for you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and opened his door. “I can go myself. It’s a cold, barely. You stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Sam … come on.” He sighed, “Fine but I’m coming too.”

He laughed, getting out of the car, “Why? In case I pass out in Aisle 3 or something?” Motioning toward the car, he said, “Stay here, stay warm. I’ll be fine.”

Ignoring him, Dean got out and slammed his door before hurrying through the dark parking lot. Between leviathans and being sick, plus the normal run of the mill monsters they encountered, there was no way he was going to risk Sam going in alone after all the ups and downs they’d struggled through the last couple of years. 

Sam shook his head as they walked in together. “Jerk,” he said quietly.

“Bitch,” he shot back, bumping against his brother with a smile. 

“Why did you let me sleep so long?” Sam asked sitting down in one of the two kitchen island chairs an hour later with a yawn. 

“Because I’m an awesome brother,” he countered quickly. Glancing at the clock, he said, “And ‘so long’ was 20 minutes, Sam.” He glanced at his brother and smiled, “I was watching the time; I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you miss dinner.” Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled down a glass and quickly got his brother a glass of water and said, “Take your drugs.” Turning back to the stove, he stirred the chicken noodle soup they had bought yesterday from the deli section.

Pulling the box of cold medicine from the bag, he opened the box and shook one of the blister packs free. “What’s in the oven,” he asked, noticing the timer. 

“Cheddar biscuits,” Dean said evenly, turning around and leaning on the counter so he could watch the other man. “They were easy and I picked up Bisquick yesterday so we could make pancakes or whatever easily.”

Sam looked at him, struggling with what to say for a moment before nodding. “Sounds good,” he said with a smile. “And impressive.” He popped two of the pills free and quickly took them with a swig of water.

He shook his head, “Not really. I didn’t even shred the cheese. It’s literally just dumping stuff together and throwing it in the oven. Like 15 minutes. I had just put them in when you came in.” 

“Well, regardless,” Sam said, laughing softly, “I’m impressed. Just like I’m blown away by the pie you made and trust me, I wasn’t thrilled when you said Pumpkin but I figure the dish washer can’t tell the chef what to make.”

Dean smiled, “No but you can certainly make requests. And, I bet you were thinking of those sad slices on Biggerson’s Pie Bar? But, we’re like on vacation, and I figured we both could do with some more vegetables.” 

He laughed, “Yeah, makes it almost a breakfast food. Probably better than some of the other things you’ve eaten for breakfast.”

Rolling his eyes before turning back to the stove and checking the soup and the timer, “Not just me. I’ve seen you eat those plastic wrapped danishes from the gas station, too. And just because it has the word ‘banana’ in it, doesn’t make those banana bread slices you scarf down from Starbucks suddenly healthy.”

Sam laughed, surprised but also not that surprised that Dean noticed what he was eating, “Whatever, dude.” He took another sip of water before moving over and grabbing Dean’s glass sitting near-by and putting both of the glasses on the dining table. 

“Grab the butter too, please, when you set the table,” Dean said, as the timer went off and he opened the oven door. 

Silently shaking his head at the order, Sam laughed softly as he set the table, each one moving effortlessly around the other in the kitchen.

“Good, huh,” Dean asked, breaking off a piece of buttered biscuit and popping it into his mouth several minutes later.

Sam nodded, “Very good and I repeat – impressive.” He ate two more bites of soup and asked, “So, what’s your favorite kind of pie that you can make”

Dean grinned, “Putting in a request?”

“Maybe but mostly curious.”

He was quiet for a moment before saying quietly. “Lisa had this recipe from an old Southern Living Magazine for Chocolate Salted Caramel Pecan Pie that was to die for. Really easy and just … hit all the right notes. You know how pecan pie can be too sweet and goopy?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah … the filling is like all goo.” 

“This has more pecans then goo and even with the chocolate and caramel, it’s not that sweet.” He smiled, taking another bite of biscuit. “I mean, it’s sweet … it’s pie but it’s not tooth rotting sweet.”

“Sounds good. Is that on the menu for while we’re here?”

Dean laughed again, “Maybe next week. I was afraid it was going to be too much for you and figured we both needed more veggies and fruits so after Pumpkin, I have a killer apple and cranberry pie.”

“And I repeat … impressive.” He grinned at his brother, lightly kicking him under the table. “Admit it, Dean … you think it’s impressive, too.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I’m impressed that after feeding your thankless ass for 15 plus years, you are finally clueing in that I’m not a bad cook.” He smiled at his brother and shook his head again, “Are you almost done with that Sue Grafton book?

Sam laughed and took another bite of soup, “Yeah, I’ll be finished with it tonight. Are you done with the Tom Clancy one already?”

He shrugged, “I have to do something while being quiet in the afternoon and it’s easy to read over your snores.” Kicking his brother back a bit harder, he grinned before tipping his head back and giving a fake snore. 

OOooOOooOO

Opening the refrigerator late Wednesday afternoon, Dean glanced out the window and saw the mist again. It was the first time they had seen it since the previous Thursday and he quietly said, “Sam, it’s back.”

Sam came in from the living room and peered out the window in the back door. “Have you seen it move at all,” he asked, instinctually glancing down to the salt line by the door. Reaching over, he grabbed one of the iron bars they had pulled from the trunk and said, “Want to go see what it wants?”

He nodded, coming over and tucking a packet of salt in his front pocket. “No time like the present.” Grabbing their shoes from a pile by the door, he tossed Sam’s to him. “Here, shoes.”

Slipping his shoes on, Sam picked up the iron bar and held it casually at his side. “Ready?”

“Nice and easy,” Dean said with a nod. “Just checking it out.” Opening the door, he stepped outside and paused, waiting to see what the mist would do.

“Doesn’t seem to care,” he said, following his brother and just pulling the door closed so they could get back in easily. “Has it moved at all?”

Dean shook his head, “I don’t think so. Well … actually …” 

“Huh,” Sam said as they watched the mist split into 3 separate clouds. “Don’t think that’s an improvement.”

“And no one else mentioned multiple clouds or figures, right?”

He shook his head, “No, but then again, some of the reports have been different but never at the same time. I don’t think either one of us guessed we were dealing with multiple ghosts.” He shrugged, “But, like we talked about, there’s a long bloody history of this area … certainly makes sense.”

Dean groaned, “I hate it when’s more than one. It’s never a good sign that it’s going to be an easy, quick job.” He shook his head, “Casper shouldn’t have buddies.” 

The three clouds hovered in place about 10 feet apart but moved no closer to the men or the house.

“Do they look about the same size to you?” Sam asked walking slowly toward the side of the mist cluster.

Studying them, Dean shrugged, “Roughly. The one on your side looks fatter than the one of my side and the one in the middle looks taller, but maybe that’s just perception.” 

“No, I think you’re right,” Sam said, moving more toward the side. He froze as the cloud closest to him pivoted slightly and he got the impression that it was once again facing him even though it was still a mostly shapeless mass. “I think mine is fatter and the one in the middle is taller.”

“Theodore, Simon, and Alvin,” Dean said with a grin. 

Sam looked at him, “What?”

“You know … The Chipmunks. Alvin and the Chipmunks?” Dean laughed and sang, “I still want a hula hoop … you know, Alive and the Chipmunks.”

His brother stared at him and said slowly, “Yeah … OK. So, the fat one is Theodore and the tall one is Simon?”

Dean sighed, “Yes, Sam.”

“Well, looks like Alvin then is fed up with the discussion and bailing on us. I think one of us should follow him, it, whatever.”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “We’re not splitting up.” 

Sam looked at him, “So … leave Simon and Theodore here or continue to stand here and stare …” Sam smiled slightly and nodded, “Actually, looks like they’re as bored as Alvin.” 

Turning, Dean saw the other two clouds move off toward the words and Alvin. “Huh,” he said as all three clouds disappeared before they reached the edge of the woods. He glanced at his brother, “Feel like checking out the cemetery?”

“Sure, let me go grab something to write with and my phone. Give a shout if they come back.” Coming back a couple of minutes later carrying both jackets, he tossed one to Dean. “It’s chilly out, put it on,” he said as his brother made a face.

“You too,” Dean countered. “In fact, I don’t even think you should be going. You should go back into the house. You’re sick.”

Sam huffed and made a face, “Barely 5 minutes ago, dude, you were all ‘we’re not splitting up’ and now you want to … split up?”

“There’s a big difference between splitting up and leaving you with a ghost or two and splitting up with you safely back in the house,” Dean said with a frown, glancing up at the gray skies. “Fine, but if it starts to rain, we’re going in.”

“Fine,” Sam said, rolling his eyes as he put on his coat. Picking up the iron bar, motioned toward the woods, “The paperwork said the path leads to the cemetery and that’s the only path I’ve seen.”

Dean eyed the break in the woods not too far from where the mist disappeared and said, “I think path is being generous but agree, it’s the only thing I see and seems to be in the right area, at least.” Picking his way through the leaves and tall, dormant grasses at the edge of the woods, he paused for a moment studying the woods in front of them and seeing nothing.

“I don’t see them and didn’t see where they went in,” Sam said quietly. “They just sort of faded out.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod and pushed through into the woods. The path was more visible once they were into the woods itself and 30 yards from the tree line, an old wooden fence was visible in a clearing well ahead of them. 

Stepping into the cemetery a minute later, Sam looked around and nodded. “Not as bad as I expected; we’ve certainly seen worse.” There was a large granite obelisk in the middle of the clearing and another dozen or so stone markers with carved names and dates and another dozen or so manmade stone blocks, a few with initials, most appearing totally blank.

Dean nodded, pointing toward a well rusted CSA medallions by two of the graves and an equally rusted US medallion by a grave from 1917. “I guess the local veterans’ groups have, or at least had, this on their maps at some point and probably got the Boy Scouts out to do weed pulling from time to time.”

Walking around, looking at the stones and dates, Sam nodded, “Yeah but that World War I grave is about the last one I see, in terms of dates at least. There’s a 1920 one but that’s it.” Bending down, he brushed some pine needles and leaves from the stone to read the inscription. “He was around 80 when he died so maybe the last owner of the property?”

“Yeah and family moved away once Grandpa was gone and buried on the old farmstead,” Dean agreed, bending down and starting to scan the stones. “The oldest I’m seeing is a woman named Elizabeth G from 1828,” he called out a moment later.

“Anything older either is missing the marker or maybe these blank stones and the inscriptions are worn, probably.”

Dean sighed, kicking at the ground as he studied it, “This is going to be a bitch, especially now that there are three of them …” He made a face at his brother and shrugged, “I guess we could just start digging and salting and burning anything we find?”

Sam groaned, “God, man … I can’t even imagine.” He scuffed the dirt with his boot and shook his head. He sneezed twice and coughed and shook his head again. “I think we’d need like a backhoe or something to get through all the roots and rocks and packed dirt.” He shook his head again, “Plus, we’re not sure that our trio are even buried here.” Waving his hand in a wide arch, “Lots of land and if they’re really going back to the 1700s, who knows what the original property’s footprint was like.”

He held up his hands, “Just a suggestion; I didn’t say it was a good suggestion.” 

He sneezed again and coughed before saying, “Start writing down the names or initials and dates of the stones near you and I’ll do these and at least we’ll have something to start researching. Maybe we’ll luck out and find something that might indicate a restless spirit.” 

Dean studied him for a minute and said, “I think you should go back to …”

“Don’t even start,” Sam said, shaking his head. “It’s a head cold and we’ll both get back to the house quicker if we work together.”

“Fine,” he huffed with a frown. Pulling out a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, he began to quickly jot down names, initials, and dates. He coughed several times and after 10 minutes found himself slightly breathless. Glancing up after one coughing fit, he saw Sam staring at him. “Shut up,” he said. “Being bent over … it’s fine.”

Sam glanced around the woods, uneasily. “Let’s just finish up. It’s cold and getting colder.”

As if sensing his brother’s unease or the same feeling of being watched, Dean glanced around them. Picking up the iron rod they had casually leaned against a headstone, he nodded. “Yeah, I don’t want you out here longer than absolutely necessary.” Keeping the rod in reach, he quickly jotted down the last bit of information from the last two stones and moved to his brother’s side. “Here you go, Sammy,” he said softly passing over the rod as his brother shoved his own notepad into his jacket’s pocket. 

“See something,” he asked softly, casually looking around.

Dean shook his head, “No but … just a feeling.”

“Me too,” he said simply. The woods were getting dark and long shadows were being created by the tall trees. 

Quickly making their way back along the path, Dean kept scanning the woods in front of them. They had tackled plenty of spirits before and always won but, now, at half speed, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having to put their luck and skills to the test. “Why don’t you go take a shower and warm up,” he said as Sam pushed open the unlocked back door to let them into the house a few minutes later.

Turning, he glanced back at his brother with a sigh, “Dean, I’m … “ His voice died in his throat and he said, “Dean.” Meeting his brother’s eyes, he nodded slightly, “Look.”

Even before his brother nodded, he heard the totally different tone and had immediately put his hand in his pocket for the bag of salt. Turning, he felt his breath catch as he saw a pale figure of an older man standing halfway between the parking pad and the woods, staring at them. 

“Is that a fourth one or one of the Chipmunks,” Sam asked.

“No idea,” he said quietly, studying the figure. The new ghost wasn’t dressed in a uniform but a simple, old fashion suit. “No uniform,” he said.

“No and that doesn’t look like the revolutionary war sort of suit, it looks too modern,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, more Rhett Butler and less George Washington.”

Raising his hand, Sam gave the figure a small wave.

“What is with you and waving to these things?” Dean asked, shaking his head.

He shrugged, still watching the figure who hadn’t moved. “I don’t know … just seems like a friendly greeting or something.” 

Taking a step closer to the figure, Dean sighed as it immediately vanished into a cloud of quickly dissipating mist. “I wonder if that was one of the chipmunks or if we’ve just met Dave.”

“Dave?”

He shook his head, “Sammy, where did I go wrong? Of course, Dave! He’s the manager of the Chipmunks. He’s even named in the song! How do you not know that?”

Sam looked at him for a long moment before pushing open the house door, “Because the idea of a song by a bunch of chipmunks is insane?” Taking off his jacket and dropping it on one of the stools, he grinned, adding, “Think about it, Dean. They’re rodents.”

Shutting the door behind them, he said, “It’s a classic and I’m totally finding it for you online and make you listen to it.” He nodded toward the back of the house, “Go take a shower and warm up.”

He looked at his brother for a moment before finally shaking his head slightly and heading back to the bedroom, returning a moment later with his laptop. 

Dean glanced up from the sofa, “I thought you were taking a shower and warm up?”

“No, you just keep telling me to take a shower as if that’s some magical way to warm up.” He waved his hand in the air, saying, “Central heat will do the job fine.” Moving over to the dining table, he put his computer down and woke it up. “Are your names still in your jacket pocket?”

Standing up, he nodded, “Yeah, let me get them for you.”

“I can do it … fine, whatever makes you happy,” he countered, shaking his head.

“What would make me happy is for you to relax. Sit down and watch TV with me and chill,” he yelled from the kitchen. Returning a moment later, he handed the other man the two notebooks. “But here, yours and mine.” He glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 4:30 and said, “30 minutes and then we’re done for the night. Agreed?”

“For both of us, right?” Sam countered. 

Dean held up his hands, “Hey, I was on the couch, ready to watch something … you’re the one at the table insisting on doing research on people who have been dead for 100+ years and on a basically harmless situation that we have weeks to figure out.” Shrugging he said, “But I’m not going to fight you. I’ll just say … 30 minutes and we’re done. You can help me cook dinner, if you just insist on being Mr. Productive.”

“What is for dinner tonight, Julia?”

He glanced at him and then smiled, getting the joke. “I was just planning on keeping it simple - burgers and baked beans. How’s that sound?”

Sam smiled, “Actually good. I’m hungry.”

“Really? Do you want me to start dinner now?”

“No, it’s fine. 6:30 or whenever is good,” he said with a shrug. “Just … I haven’t been hungry lately and you made me eat crackers with peanut butter earlier so I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Sam, six crackers while we played cards. Call me shocked that they didn’t fill you up until breakfast.” He waved at the computer, “Get to it though, if you still want to bother because I’m calling a hard stop in 28 minutes.”

Sam laughed, turning his attention to the computer and opening a favorite genealogy site he used for researching ghosts.

“Two minute warning,” Dean said casually from the couch where he was sitting reading. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, “I heard your 10 minute warning.”

He shrugged, not looking up from his book. “Whatever, Sammy. I’m just telling you.” He smiled to himself remembering all the times growing up that Sam would beg for 10 more minutes of TV or to read or play a video game. Then, 5 more minutes after those 10 minutes were up. By the time his brother was 10, he had figured out Sam’s deal and learned to give warnings and then just a hard stop. It produced whining and a few tantrums but made bedtimes much easier in the end for both of them. Glancing at the clock and marking his place in his book, he stood up. “Five … four …”

Sam laughed, “Hell man, if you ever want to stop hunting, you could take up a job as a kitchen timer.” Closing the laptop, he waved a hand, “Happy?” He stood up and yawned deeply, feeling his eyes water slightly. Sniffling, he shook his head as his brother started to comment. “Don’t even …”

Dean held up his hands, “Fine but come into the kitchen with me and you can fill me in on your research while I cook.” He really wanted to suggest his brother crash on the couch while dinner cooked but knew what sort of comment he’d get from that suggestion. Picking battles was another strategy he had learned growing up, raising his brother, and that their father never did. 

Pouring them each a glass of water, Sam settled on a stool at the kitchen island, notes on the counter but pushed to the side. “What can I help with, chef?”

Dean grinned, tossing his brother the cold medicine and then slid an onion, chopping board and knife toward him. “Take your pills first and then chop that up for me, please. Small but it’s just for the baked beans so it doesn’t have to be perfect.” 

“Don’t forget your antibiotics,” Sam countered, shaking out a blister pack. “You still have a few days left.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dean grabbed the prescription bottle and walked it into the dining room to put by his place. “I wish you’d worry about your own stuff as much as you worry about mine.”

Sam laughed loudly and shook his head, “Pot, kettle, dude.” Quickly swallowing the pills, he turned his attention to the onion and began to dice it up. “Another family recipe or Alton Brown?” he asked after a few minutes, watching Dean turn on the oven and measure out the other ingredients. 

He glanced up at him and then smiled slightly, nodding. “Yeah, sort of and then modified. Too many recipes put bell peppers in, which I hate, and I bake them longer than other recipes because I like the thickness.”

Nodding, he turned his attention back to the onion and said casually, “Can’t wait to try them. How long did it take you to get it right?”

“Hmmm,” Dean said, opening two cans of prepared beans, as he thought. “I’d say 4 or 5 times until I got it perfect.” He laughed, giving the frying bacon a quick stir and shaking his head slightly, “But then I got stuck making them for every get together. Every BBQ or cook-out or potluck thing, I’d get a request. Lisa was thrilled because it saved her the hassle.” Stirring the ingredients together in a casserole dish, he smiled and shook his head, not looking up, “She would cook because Ben needed food but it wasn’t her thing.”

Sam laughed softly, nodding, “I get that.” He swallowed before taking a deep breath, saying, “Jess was a good cook, learned it from her mom. I think you would have had a lot to talk about with her. Lisa and I could have privately high fived over our brilliance in hooking up with people who liked to cook while you two discussed the pros and cons of Alton Brown.”

He glanced over at his brother, surprised by the mention of Jess. Sam almost never mentioned the young woman and had given every indication that the subject and almost the entire three year chapter of his life was all but too painful to think about. He smiled and said, “I would have loved that, Sammy.” His mind flashed immediately to the drug induced djinn visions and the laughing, happy woman finally getting to celebrate her engagement with Sam. “That would have been great,” he said with a nod. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking down at the onion. A minute later, he stood up, pushing the cutting board and diced onion toward his brother. “Here you go, be right back. I need to wash my hands and get the onion stuff off my fingers.”

“OK and when you get back, you can fill me in on your research,” he said evenly.

“Yeah.” 

Looking up as the younger man came back into the kitchen five minutes later, Dean asked, “Good?”. He was mixing up the ground beef and burger ingredients and forced himself to simply glance up and not fully study his brother’s face.

Sam nodded, sitting back down on his stool. “Yeah, fine.” He took a deep breath and coughed a couple of times before pulling the research folder closer to him. “Do you need any more help or you want me to tell you what I found?”

“Tell me what you found,” he said, heading to the sink to wash his hands.

He nodded, flipping the folder open. “Get this, we were right about the old guy, Rory Cameron, … the one who died in the 1920s …”

“Yeah,” Dean said, leaning on the far counter and casually looking at his brother. The distance allowed him to appear casual while actually studying the younger man. 

“It looks like Rory was born here in 1839, probably on this property and, near as I can tell, was one of the grandsons of the original owner, Nathaniel. His father, Alexander, had several brothers and sisters. But, according to what I’ve found, Alexander was the only son to make it to adulthood. A couple of his sisters had children before dying. I think one sister was that 1828 grave you saw, Elizabeth G … something, either married or middle name.”

Dean nodded, “So the property probably became Rory’s when old Grandpa Nathaniel and then Dad Alexander kicked the bucket.” His brother’s face was slightly flushed and his eyes were red but didn’t seem to be having problems with his throat. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Rory, 1920s guy, gets married and has several kids himself. Kind of sucks though, of his four kids, only two make it to adulthood and he had two grandchildren who also die young. Other than that, which maybe isn’t so unusual for the time, he looks to have lived a fairly normal life, farmer - corn and cattle - before dying at the ripe old age of 81 and is buried on the family homestead. His obituary is online and lists a wife, who is already deceased by the time he dies, so she’s probably out there too and the couple of kids who died young. Looks like the World War I grave is for a grandson.” He coughed again before saying, “And after three generations …”

He sighed and shook his head, “Great. Got to love digging up kids’ graves.” Taking a sip of water, he said, “And after this long? 150 plus years, what are the chances that there’s anything still left to salt and burn?” Walking over to the kitchen island, he pushed Sam’s glass closer to him. “Drink.”

Making a face, Sam ignored him for a long moment before finally picking up the glass and taking a sip.

“Do we think Rory is Dave or one of the Chipmunks?” Dean asked, leaning on the island counter and trying to read Sam’s notes upside down. “Seems like the wrong age for Dave…”

He nodded, “Dave looked to be what … maybe 60?”

“Seems about right. When did Alexander, the dad, die?”

Sam smiled, flipping the page, “Sometime between 1860 and 1866, when Tennessee was readmitted to the Union. He’s listed in the 1860 Census, as is his wife, son Rory, and a 17 year old daughter, another Elizabeth. It doesn’t list the two guys with the CSA markers … Brodie and Stuart.” He glanced up, “It also notes that the farm had 12 workers but didn’t list them in the census or at least not in what I found.”

“Huh,” Dean said, nodding. Maybe the Chipmunks aren’t so friendly with Dave, after all. Are we thinking that workers is code for slave?” He thought for a moment and then sighed, shaking his head. “Man, wouldn’t even know where to start trying to find slave graves on this property. How do you know that Alexander died before 1866?”

“It was sort of cool… before a man in any of the old Confederate States could vote again, they had to prove they were a landowner and take an oath to the Union, basically saying sorry for seceding.”

Dean laughed, holding up his hands, “Hey, my bad! Didn’t mean to start a war that killed like a million people!”

He laughed, shaking his head, “Don’t say that too loud around here, Dean. They might take offense to the notion that they started the war.” He laughed again as his brother rolled his eyes. “But, regardless. It looks like Rory didn’t have to swear anything and the property never looks like it was ever taken from the family, which was another common thing after the war ended. He just shows up on the rolls of landowners and votes immediately after Tennessee rejoins the Union.”

“And that means … what exactly?”

Sam shrugged, “My guess is that it means Rory didn’t fight for the Confederates. He either didn’t fight period or joined the Union Army. Tennessee sent almost as many guys into the Union Army, as the Confederate one. Since he never joined the Confederacy, he didn’t have to take an oath.”

He made a face and nodded, “Sure, why not.” Glancing at the timer on the stove, he moved to the fridge and grabbed an apple. “But what about the two civil war graves out there? Who are they? They clearly joined the Confederacy, since they have CSA markers.” Quickly washing the apple before slicing it into quarters, he took out the core pieces and cut it into smaller slices. Putting half on a plate, he slid it toward his brother. “Eat.”

“Really?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “We’re going to be eating dinner soon.” Trying to push the plate away, he glared at his brother.

“We’re not going to eat for like another hour,” he said, blocking the plate. “So, eat up, doctor’s orders, remember?” Meeting his brother’s gaze, he said, “Unless you’re feeling sick again …”

Sam blushed slightly, shaking his head. “It’s fine.”

“Did you throw up again, earlier?” he asked simply, keeping his eyes on the younger man. “It’s OK, if you did. We just need to kind of keep an eye on it.”

“Just a bad flashback,” Sam said quietly. “I didn’t get sick though.” He shook his head and gave a slight grin, “Thinking about Jess … just … Lucifer knew about her and just …” His voice trailed off and he shook his head again, gaze drifting off into space. 

Dean was silent for a moment, his mind instantly flashing back to some of Alastair’s more elaborate tortures. Pushing the memories down, he reached out and squeezing his brother’s hand, “Hey, don’t go anywhere. Remember … real and here. Nothing else besides me and you and us. And we’re real.” Waiting until the younger man nodded, he picked up the plate of apple slices and said, “Come on. Let’s deal with the Chipmunk Mystery tomorrow. I’m tired of thinking about ghosts.” 

He laughed, “The Chipmunk Mystery sounds like some Saturday morning cartoon.” With a sigh, he stood up and followed his brother into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa next to him, he shook his head as Dean thrust the plate into his hands. 

“Eat,” he ordered and then grinned. “Or no desert.”

OOooOOooOO

Slowly waking up the next morning, Dean glanced over at his brother’s bed and smiled, glad to see that Sam was still fast asleep. The younger man had been reluctant to go to bed the night before, pretending to be engrossed in a random documentary about the Forbidden City. He had eventually forced the issue at 11:00, when the documentary ended, by refusing to go to bed before his brother. But the night had been peaceful and if Sam had another nightmare, it didn’t wake him up. Quietly grabbing his book from the nightstand, he decided that he was going to do his best to keep the relaxed vacation mood going as long as possible … something they hadn’t experienced in several years. 

“Man, you have to stop just laying in bed after you wake up and letting me sleep,” Sam complained, sitting up in bed and staring at his brother 30 minutes later. He had woken up 5 minutes earlier and had been annoyed to find his brother in bed reading. “Get up, do stuff, whatever you want.”

“OK,” Dean said easily with a shrug as he finished slipping on a pair of jeans. “Of course, you’re assuming I’m not already doing exactly what I want to be doing.”

Sam huffed and shook his head, “Yeah, like I believe that.”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me, Sammy,” he said, grinning and walking out of the bedroom. “I’m making pancakes so get your well rested ass up.”

“What if I don’t want pancakes?” he shot back, flopping back on the bed with a sigh. He made a face as he heard his brother laugh down the hall. 

“I want to see if I can figure out more about the two civil war graves out there,” Sam said 45 minutes later as he cleared the table from breakfast. 

“Brodie and Stuart Galen, right?” Dean asked, leaning casually against the island counter and watching his brother.

Sam nodded, “Yeah. They’re not listed on the census but clearly were part of the family somehow.” Turning on the water, he quickly rinsed the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “I bookmarked some sites from yesterday’s research that I want to get more into today.”

“Sounds good,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and then suddenly shook his head. “No, actually … it doesn’t sound good.”

He glanced up as he closed the dishwasher. “You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean said with a grin. “We were told to relax and recoup and that’s what we should be doing. We’re both feeling better, the sun is out, the temperatures look warm enough, screw the research and let’s go for a drive and food.” Heading into the living room, he opened a drawer and pulled out a brochure and carried it back into the kitchen. “Come on, let’s take a drive that’s just for fun and not to get from one house of horrors to the next monster. It’s been too long since we’ve done that.”

Looking at the brochure for the Natchez Trace, he smiled and shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’ll feel good to get out and stretch a bit. Got some place in mind or we just driving?”

“I do,” Dean said with a grin. “I’ve heard about this place that does amazing biscuits and food and they’re open until 3:00 today so we have time. I figure it’ll be the perfect place to grab some lunch to go.” 

He laughed, “We’re in the south so might as well eat some good biscuits.”

“Exactly!”

The mile long hike, really more of a stroll on a well maintained path, down to the waterfall was the perfect opportunity to stretch their legs and start moving again, Dean had decided as they parked the car in the graveled lot and got out. There were two other cars parked there but it was quiet, except for the distant sound of the waterfall. 

Laughing, Sam carried the sandwiches they had picked up and followed him down the path. 

Waving his own bag, Dean said, “Come on, Sammy. You’ve got the food but I’ve got the desert.” The lady at the restaurant had sworn by their buttermilk pie and had cut a generous slice to go. Sitting down at a picnic table near the edge of the falls, he smiled, appraising his sandwich. “This looks amazing,” he said, taking a bite.

“Are you actually going to eat that whole thing?” Sam asked, eyeing the ‘thanksgiving’ special of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry spread. “And who puts stuffing on a sandwich, which is made with bread.”

“Hey,” he protested, “it has spinach on it too! And it’s delicious.”

Taking a bite of his own modestly sized ham and swiss, Sam shook his head. “And we’re still going to eat dinner when we get home?” 

Giving him a ‘duh, of course’ look, Dean nodded, “Chicken teriyaki with pineapple, veggies, and rice. You were with me when we bought all that stuff, Sam.” He laughed, taking another bite of his sandwich, “Didn’t you wonder why?”

Sam laughed, taking a small bit of his own sandwich and saying after a moment, “Too busy trying not to feel sick at the idea of eat all that food.” He gave a small shrug, “But it’s much better now.”

Nodding toward the other half of the ham sandwich, he said, “When you eat that half I’ll agree with ‘much’. Right now, I’m good with the ‘better’ part.” Under the table, he gently kicked his brother’s food, “Really glad to have the ‘better’ part. And the sleeping part, too. I missed your snores.”

Sam kicked him back harder, “For the last time, dude, I don’t snore!” Taking another bite, he grinned and said, “Do you remember how Dad would snore?”

The other man laughed and nodded, “Yeah … talk about complaints from the hotel. Especially after a long hunt, he’d come home … dead tired …”

“And just crash,” Sam said with a nod. “He’d be out for a day.”

Laughing, Dean said, “Yeah, you and I’d be arguing in the living room, tv on full and he’d be in the bedroom sound asleep. That man could sleep through anything!”

Sam looked at him, a smile slowly starting as he laughed, “Anything?”

Watching him, Dean laughed, catching the memory his brother was probably thinking of. “Indianapolis?” He grinned, matching his brother’s grin and nodding, “Ohio State versus Michigan?”

He nodded, “That’s what made me think of it. I saw the Super Bowl on the news this morning and it’s in Indianapolis this year. It’s on Sunday. We should watch.” Laughing, he said, “Sneaking back in that night … Dad had just gotten home that day and we were sure he’d be out…”

“He should have been!” Dean protested, laughing. “He drove like 12 hours straight after some hunt with Bobby and dropping him off. He shouldn’t have woken up, we were quiet!” He grinned, remembering taking Sam to some frat party in Columbus to watch the televised game that day and partying and mourning the loss well into the night, both passing as students even though Sam had just started his senior year of High School. “What was that girl’s name again?”

Sam blushed and laughed, “Which one? There were multiple and they were all happy and needed to be cheered up after the loss and eager to make me feel better, too.”

Dean laughed, kicking his brother again, “That’s right, lover boy, I remember watching you go upstairs multiple times.”

Kicking him back, Sam protested, “I didn’t have sex with them, Dean!”

He snorted, “Oh really?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to have sex with them … just …” he shrugged, “I was 17 …” He laughed again, blushing. “Whatever, dude. We’re not talking about this!” Looking over at his brother, he gave an honest smile, “That was a great year.”

Swallowing slightly and taking a bite of his sandwich to push down a rush of sudden memories, he nodded, “Yeah. It was.” He and John had gotten into a big fight the summer between Sam’s Junior and Senior years, with Dean threatening to take his brother and move to Bobby’s if John didn’t promise they would stay some place the entire year and give Sam at least some permanence on his school record. He and his brother had talked multiple times about the younger boy’s desire to go to college and while he had secretly hated the idea, he was equally determined to do everything in his power to make it happen. With John gone most of the time, they had gotten even closer as their relationship began to slowly change, taking on more of a friendship and peer and co-conspirator air. He had worked full time, they both took care of the small rented house just outside of Indianapolis, swapping chores and supporting each other as they dealt with the disruption of their father blowing into town every few weeks. 

Sam watched a host of emotions flash across his brother’s face and nodded, knowing or at least understanding the strong hit of memories. He and their father were fighting constantly that year, Dean often throwing himself in the middle to play his ever constant role of peacemaker between the two waring entities, and their father had usually backed down, choosing to leave instead of fighting both of them, confident that he’d win in the end. Feeling his stomach twist with a sudden flash of Lucifer induced torment, powered by those memories, he put his sandwich down and blindly reached for the bottle of water.

“Here you go,” Dean said quickly, pushing the bottle toward him. “I think the Super Bowl sounds great. It should be a good game and we’ll get some fun snacks…” 

Grateful for the change of subject and happy to get back to less emotional territory, Sam took a sip of water and nodded, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah and should be a good game. Do you want the Giants or Patriots?”

Not really caring, Dean shrugged. “As long as it’s a good game, I’m happy. Who do you want?”

“I’ll go with the Giants, then.”

“Good enough,” Dean said with a smile, nudging his brother with his foot, “Eat your sandwich, Sammy. No pie until it’s gone.” He picked up the bag and shook it slightly, “Buttermilk.”

He made a face, picking up the partially eaten half of sandwich and slowly taking another bite. “You can keep that one, Dean. I’ll stick with the lemon meringue.” He laughed as his brother rolled his eyes. “What? I love lemon meringue! It’s good!”

“Meringue is never good,” Dean said, happy to take off on that subject and watch his brother eat. “It’s a pain to make and just never that good …”

Looking at him, he asked, “You’ve made meringue? You know how to make meringue?”

He ducked his head and shrugged, “Yeah and don’t look so surprised or impressed. It’s easy, the mixer does all the work. 

Glancing over at the passenger seat of the car two hours later, Dean smiled at the sight of Sam fast asleep, slouched down against the car door. They had a great day and even though they had to stop twice to catch their breath as they walked the mile back up from the waterfall to the car, the sun and the fresh air and exercise had felt great. 

Sam yawned and stirred 20 minutes later as the car came to a full stop at a light before turning right toward their house. “Oh, man, sorry … didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“Not a problem at all,” he said, shaking his head. “The radio’s been good. You were tired.”

Sitting up straighter, he nodded and yawned again. “Yeah and the car … the noise …” His voice trailed off as he glanced out the window

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, remembering his brother’s comments earlier about the familiarity of the car. “But I miss Baby. This one is fine but it’s not ours.”

He laughed, “Let’s make a note, next time we have to change cars we get something with at least a CD player in it.” Glancing at his brother, he smiled, “I don’t think that’s asking too much.”

Dean chuckled, “Not a chance in hell, Sammy. You’re the only one with CDs and no way am I listening to any of those.”

“I have an iPod …” he started.

Dean look at him, “Do you really want to talk about that abomination again?” Laughing, he shook his head, “Poor Baby …”

Rolling his eyes, he smiled, “Fine, I’ll mourn the passing of a perfectly good iPod jack, forever lost, and all the songs it could have introduced you to, in private.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he agreed, nodding and laughing again. Turning into the driveway, he said, “Maybe go see that new Liam Neeson movie tomorrow when we’re in town to do some research at …” 

“And we’ve got company,” Sam said, interrupting as they both saw the cloud of mist hovering in the grass area just beyond the fire pit. Glancing at his brother, he said, “Any ideas if we’re looking at Dave or the Chipmunks again?”

Putting the car in park, he shook his head. “Got me but there’s one way to find out.” Stretching and twisting slightly, he grabbed an iron rod tucked into the back floorboard. Coughing as he straightened back up, he said, “Stay in the car.”

“Like hell,” Sam said with a laugh. 

“Sam, come on,” he said, glaring at his brother for a moment before shaking his head. “Fine but stay back.”

Ignoring the order, he grabbed a small bag of salt from the glove compartment and slipped it into his jacket pocket before opening the car door and stepping out. Gently closing the car door at the same time as his brother, he steadily walked toward the fire pit, watching the mist hover in place. As before, he felt as if the mist was watching him, facing him, and he smiled slightly at it.

“Any guesses?” Dean asked quietly. 

Sam shook his head, “No but …” Taking a deep breath, he coughed several times before saying, “Hi Rory. Fantastic bit of property you’ve got here. Does it look pretty much the same as when you died?”

Moving closer so they were standing next to each other, Dean nodded.

The mist shifted and moved slightly, expanding and contracting in several small waves but stayed where it was.

“Good try,” Dean said softly. “Maybe it’s not Rory … or maybe it is,” he said as they watched the mist split and a tall, thin figure appeared to step out of the cloud.

Dressed simply in old-fashion slacks and a button down cotton work shirt, the ghost stood there, watching them.

“Rory?” Sam asked.

The figure smiled slightly and bowed his head briefly. “A pleasure, gentlemen,” he said in a firm voice, a light southern accent stretching out the vowels slightly. Glancing behind him to the mist, he nodded slightly before turning his attention back to Sam and Dean. “As this is a friendly chat, the laying down of arms would be most appreciated.” His gaze rested firmly on the iron rod held lightly in Dean’s right hand. “You have my word that, despite the lack of a white banner, I mean you no harm.”

Dean nodded, taking several steps back and leaning the rod against the car’s front bumper. Then, casually leaning against the hood, he smiled slightly at the ghost. 

“What can we do to help you move on?” Sam asked. “We’ve been asked by the house’s owners to investigate the situation. You’ve been frightening her guests.”

Rory chuckled, “I am sorry to hear that. Please convey my apologies to her, she seems like a nice lady and we would not want to frighten her or disrupt her business.” He frowned, adding, “But you may also remind her that while the house is hers and I lay no claim to it, this land is mine, ours. It was bought with our blood and sweat and hard work. Our family risked their freedom and good name by siding against the King; my father struggled endlessly, almost from birth, to keep it, improve it, expand it, at the risk of his soul. And I continued the tradition and poured every bit of myself into it. It’s mine, it’s ours, and neither you nor she can take it from us.”

“That doesn’t seem much like southern hospitality,” Dean said dryly. “This land hasn’t been yours in 90 plus years, Rory.”

He smiled slightly, bowing his head again, saying, “And yet here I am.” Stepping back into the mist, he quickly disappeared and then almost as quickly, the cloud dissipated as well. 

Sam shook his head and then sneezed twice, sniffling slightly before saying, “Well, at least we learned that it’s Rory we’re dealing with and we know where his bones are if we want to take care of him.”

Grabbing the iron rod, Dean stood up, scanning the open yard and field in front of them. “Come on, it’s getting cold and you don’t need to be outside any longer.” Ignoring the look his brother shot him, he unlocked the house door and went inside, leaving the door ajar.

“Who do you think Rory meant when he said ‘we’? The way he glanced at the mist cloud several times, I’m guessing we were looking at all the Chipmunks and he was just the designated spokesman,” Sam said, coming inside and locking the door behind him. Bending down, he quickly fixed the salt line.

Dean grinned, “Spokesspook? Spokesghost?”

He laughed, nodding, “Yeah, designated spokesspook.” He yawned, heading into the kitchen and pouring a glass of water.

“Take your drugs and head to bed,” Dean said firmly, glancing at the clock. “You were supposed to take something around 2:00 and it’s already almost 3:00.”

“Enough, Dean,” Sam shot back, the annoyance clear in his voice. “I don’t need to take a nap.” Opening the cough medicine box, he shook out the blister pack and popped two pills free. Downing them quickly, he shook his head again. “I’m fine.”

“Says the person who couldn’t stay awake in the car for more than two hours,” he said with a shrug. “And I’m just telling you what Dr. Gray told you all of four days ago.” Crossing his arms, he stared at his brother and said, “Or am I misremembering?” When his brother didn’t answer, he shrugged again and walked out of the kitchen and toward the back of the house. Changing quickly, he tossed his jeans and shirts into the washer. “When you come change, throw your jeans into the washer so we can do that load tonight,” he called out before flopping down on his bed and grabbing his book.

Coming into the bedroom a minute later, Sam glared at him for a second before asking, “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” he said, refusing to look up.

Sam huffed slightly, pacing the bedroom and shaking his head. Coughing, he glanced at his brother, posed for a comment, ready with a quick retort.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched the pacing and knew full well what his brother wanted. Refusing to give in, he yawned and turned the page on his book. A long moment later, he said evenly, eyes still firmly on his book, “I refuse to have the same fight with you over and over, Sam. You know I’m right, you know Dr. Gray is right, so stop being stubborn. There’s no one here to be impressed with your ability to power through.” Glancing up, he smiled, “I’ve been watching you power through this mess for months, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“It’s not that, Dean,” he said, shaking his head.

Watching him for a moment, waiting for him to continue, he said softly, “Then what, Sammy?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly a long moment later. Sitting down on his bed, he sighed, coughing again. “I just feel like shit sometimes. I’m good one minute and then it’s like a sucker punch and I can’t keep my eyes open and am just exhausted and I’m so tired of this.” He coughed again lightly and then laid back across the bed, army draped over his face and sighed before saying in an even quieter voice, “I’m just tired.”

Marking his page, Dean closed the book and sat up. “I know, dude,” he said, “I get it.” Laughing softly, he shook his head and grinned, “Trust me, I get it.”

“Yeah.”

Watching his brother for a second, he finally said, “Instead of fighting about it, when we both understand what the other is going through and both care about each other and both want the same thing …”

Sam chuckled, “Good porn, burgers, and pie?”

Dean laughed, shaking his head, “Exactly, smart ass. And on top of that …”

He laughed again, sitting up with a sigh. “To get better, get back on the road at full speed in order to finally take down Dick?”

“Right, emphasis on the get better part,” he said. Meeting his brother’s eyes, Dean said softly, “Let’s not fight about this and just humor me, humor Dr. Gray, do as you’re told and I’ll do the same, OK?” Waiting for a moment, he lightly kicked at the other man’s feet, asking again, “What do you think? Deal? You humor me, I humor you, we both stop fighting and take naps like good little boys?” He laughed as his brother smiled and shook his head. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, laughing too, a second later. “I’m just tired,” he added, coughing again.

“I know,” he said, nodding. 

Standing up, he quickly changed, throwing his own jeans and shirts into the washer. “I’ll do that load tonight,” he said, yawning as he got into his own bed.

Dean nodded, “Sounds good.” Picking up his book again, he laid back down and yawned. 

“Don’t let me sleep too long, OK?” Sam sighed, rolling over and coughing again. “It’s already after 3:00.”

“OK,” he said easily. 

Sitting at the kitchen island that evening, Sam glanced at his notes and said, “Let’s go with the assumption that we’re dealing with three to four ghosts.”

Dean glanced up from the raw chicken breast he was slicing and nodded. “Yeah, the Chipmunks, one of which we know is Rory, and maybe Dave. Dave clearly isn’t Rory.”

Sam nodded and yawned, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah.” Coughing, he said, “Unless we’re wrong about Rory. That ghost looked mid-20s and Rory was basically 80 when he died. But Dave didn’t look like someone from the 1920s. From his little speech though about the land and his grandfather and father, that all fits with Rory. Alexander didn’t have another son that lived anywhere near his 20s, or at least not one that I saw listed online.”

Scraping the chicken into a ziplock bag, Dean went to the sink and quickly washed his hands. He glanced over his shoulder, saying, “Yeah and he didn’t correct us when you said his name and I certainly think he would have. And we know that ghosts can change their age or at least what they look like. You know, come back at a different age or at least appear as a different age.”

He nodded, “Right, some sort of perception control, like women in white look young and beautiful or poltergeist look like little kids sometimes. Dad’s journal might have more details about it.”

“I’ll look tonight after dinner,” Dean agreed. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he filled it with water and passed it to his brother. “Drink.”

“You too,” he said, taking the glass and eyeing his brother, daring him to break their deal so quickly.

Giving a quick nodding jerk of his head, he grabbed another glass and filled it. He grinned, holding it up and said, “Cheers,” before taking a sip. Laughing as his brother laughed, he shook his head. 

Sam smiled, sipping at his water again, before turning back to his notes. “OK, so three to four ghosts … Rory and who? The census mentioned a sister that was living here in 1860 …”

Grabbing a bottle of marinade, Dean nodded, “Yeah, could be. And that would fit with Rory’s whole we did this and this land is ours spiel.”

“And why he was including her in the discussion and maybe even why he was the spokesman.”

“Spokesspook,” Dean corrected with a grin, pouring the marinade over the chicken. 

Sam laughed again, “Yeah, spokesspook, right.”

“A well born southern lady, sure, I can see her not wanting to talk to strange guys …”

“Or her brother not thinking it’s appropriate,” Sam said, interrupting. Then, added, “And god knows older brothers can be bossy bastards at times.”

Dean smiled at him, shrugging. “Only when little brothers are stubborn bastards,” he said, chuckling before turning back to the vegetables he was starting to chop. “What’s the sister’s name? And, more importantly, is she out there with Rory? I didn’t see her.”

Taking a sip of water, Sam said, “Her name is Elizabeth, maybe named after one of Alexander’s sisters, the one who died in 1828 we think, and not sure what happened to her after the 1860 census.” He grinned, adding, “My personal timer went off before I had a chance to dig into her.”

Dean laughed, “Hey, don’t be blaming me for your failure to prioritize correctly.” Glancing up, he added, “I learned years ago to tune out your pleas for five more minutes.”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you got really good at turning off the TV and the light and no amount of asking …”

“Begging, Sam, it was pure begging sometimes,” he said, laughing again. 

He shook his head, “Whatever, but you were strict! Stricter than Dad a lot of times.”

Dean laughed again, “Hell, yes. You were cranky if you didn’t get enough sleep and I was the one dealing with that, not him. It was important for my own sanity!” Grabbing the can of pineapple out of the cabinet, he smiled at his brother. “And, I’d like to point out that me being strict seemed to have paid off.”

“Yeah, it did,” he agreed, smiling back. Shaking his head again, he said, “Regardless of whose fault it is, I’m not sure what happened to her. We can look tomorrow and I’m hoping we can get a big picture at the Franklin Historical Society. The stuff online that I found was incomplete.”

He nodded, “If we think Rory and sis are two of the three Chipmunks, who do you think is the third? And who is Dave?” The prep work done, he turned, leaning against the counter and sipping at his water. “Maybe Alexander?” Staring pointedly at Sam’s own water for a moment, he smiled slightly as his brother picked up the glass and took a sip. “Or maybe whoever Brodie and Stuart are?”

Sam shrugged, “Hopefully we’ll find out tomorrow or I’ll start digging into tonight after dinner, while you’re looking at Dad’s journal.”

“No, no more work for you tonight,” Dean said firmly, shaking his head. “You’ve done enough already and there’s plenty of time tomorrow.”

Taking a slow breath, he said, “Tell you what, Dean, I’ll continue my research while you look through Dad’s journal. When you’re done, I’m done. Deal?” Meeting his brother’s gaze, he held it, silently watching the other man struggle with how to respond while still respecting the peace deal they struck that afternoon.

“Fine,” he said, with a huff and glare. Pushing off from the counter, he shook his head slightly but remained quiet. Grabbing a pan and measuring cup, he turned to the sink and began measuring out water for the rice.

“Fine,” Sam said, smiling slightly. “Tomorrow or tonight, if you’re slow,” he said, glancing up and chuckling as he saw his brother glance over his shoulder and roll his eyes at the comment, “I’m going to see if I can find out what happened to the sister, the mother, and who Brodie and Stuart are. Anyone else we think might be high on the possibilities list?”

Thinking for a moment as he turned the stove on to bring the water to a boil, he nodded. “I don’t think the other Chipmunk is another sibling of Rory’s and I’m not even sure Elizabeth the sister is the second Chipmunk. His whole speech was about family, what the family and his father and he all did. He didn’t say our father, like we do. If we’re together and talking to someone about Dad, we say our dad, our father.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. I only say my dad when I’m by myself. But the land is ‘ours’, according to Rory.”

“Right,” Dean said, leaning on the counter and nodding. “But he first said mine and then corrected it. I’m betting the other Chipmunks are either his mother, who certainly would have some claim to the land, and maybe a cousin or two. The land is Rory’s, legally in his mind, but his mom would have an emotional claim and cousins could have some emotional claim because of shared family lines.”

Flipping through his notes for a second, Sam nodded. “Yeah and it would make sense that Brodie and Stuart are cousins of one type or another. They’re basically the same age as Rory, their last name is Galen or something like that and we guessed that the marker with Elizabeth G. on it was Rory’s aunts, one of his father’s sisters. Her kids would be his cousin.”

“And burying them in the family plot, near their mother and grandfather and the rest of the family, would make sense,” Dean said, nodding. Glancing at the boiling water, he slowly poured in the rice and gave it a quick stir. “So, now that that’s figured out and we know what we’re looking for tomorrow, why don’t you pull up movie times and check out when that new Liam Neeson movie is playing and where.”

Sam chuckled, “Sure. We’ve been into nature documentaries lately and this one is all about wolves.”

Dean laughed, “Exactly, it’s almost educational and you know me, always looking to expand my horizons.”

OOooOOooOO

Pausing before getting into the car the next morning, Sam scanned the open field between the house and the woods. 

“See something?” Dean asked as his brother shut the car door after sitting down. 

“No,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “Just feels like …”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, that something is out there watching?” When his brother nodded, he gave a small chuckle, “I felt it too and that’s why we double checked the salt lines and put a new one by the door before we left. No sense letting Casper go poking around when we’re not home.”

Sam sighed, nodding. “Exactly. I don’t think they mean any harm but why take chances.” Picking up his bag from the floorboard, he pulled out his phone and queued up the directions to the historical society as the car started down the driveway. “It’s not too far from the drug store we went too,” he said.

“How are you doing on your cold stuff,” Dean asked, glancing up and down the road before pulling out. “Do we need to stop?”

“I’m good,” he said, smiling slightly. “And yes, before you ask, I took stuff this morning.”

Dean laughed, “I don’t have to ask; I saw you take them, Sammy.”

“Of course you did,” he said, shaking his head before laughing. 

“Yahtzee,” Dean said, smiling, coming back to the table Sam sat at with three census books spread out in front of him.

“Found something?” he asked, glancing up.

Dean nodded, “Complete family tree, researched and documented by some researcher who was looking at the original families. Since Nathaniel was one of the original settlers and still had descendants in the area and the land was still in the family, at least in the 1930s, the Cameron family was a special interest.” Sitting down, he handed over the three photocopies he had made. “Let’s see if we can start eliminating people and figure out who Dave at least might be.”

“Perfect,” Sam agreed. “I’ve got the 1840s, 1850s, and 1860s census and that might help as well.”

Scanning quickly, Dean gave a low chuckle and pointed to a spot on the family tree. “Are we good or what?”

Sam glanced at the two boxes his brother was pointing out, scanning the tree quickly, and smiled. “So, Brodie and Stuart are Rory’s cousins, like we guessed.” Turning his attention to the census books, he scanned the entries quickly, “Not listed as living there in the 1840 one but …. they are listed as members of the household in 1850.” Glancing up, he said, “They weren’t in the 1860 census though for some reason.”

“Their dad died in 1841 and mom died in 1842, so probably moved in with Uncle Alexander and Aunt Alice after that,” Dean said, reading the family tree. “Their mother was Martha Galen, which matches that M.G. stone out in the cemetery. Brodie and Stuart also have a sister …”

“Yep, Martha, age 8,” Sam said, reading the census. “Here, they are all listed as Cameron, along with a Rory, age 11, Allison, 9 and Elizabeth 7.” 

“Martha, named after her mom,” Dead supplied. “Martha Cameron Galen, sister of Alexander and Elizabeth, wife of Broderick and mother of Brodie, Stuart, and Little Martha, died 1842.”

Turning to the 1860 census, he said, “And little Martha is still living with Uncle Alexander and Aunt Alice in 1860 but Allison is gone. Wonder where Brodie and Stuart are?”

“School maybe?” Dean suggested, “or maybe someone hung on to their parents’ farm and they moved there? They 19 and 21 in 1860, maybe considered adults by then?” Scanning the tree, he added, “And the sister Allison died at age 18 in 1859, so that explains her.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah and that’s probably who the A.C. is on one of those stones we saw.”

Dean shook his head, “That house must have been a mess, six kids all basically the same age? And three of them boys?” He laughed, “And Dad thought he had it bad.” 

Glancing up from the papers he was shuffling through, he said, “Did you say Allison and Elizabeth are Rory’s sisters or other cousins?”

“Sisters,” Dean confirmed, reading the family tree. “Dad Alexander also two other babies, both boys, who didn’t make it. Then, one of Alexander’s other sisters was that 1828 Elizabeth G stone. Her married last name was Garrison and her son, another Cameron cousin, was Henry Garrison and he died as a baby, too,” he said, scanning the family tree. “Little Martha had kids but Allison and Elizabeth the sister didn’t.” Shaking his head as he scanned the information, “Lots of kids, lots of early deaths.”

Sam glanced at him, “Think we’re looking at a curse or just bad luck and the times?”

He shrugged, “I’m guessing bad luck and shitty 19th century medical care because I don’t see a pattern of who dies and who lives.” Glancing back up, he said, “Wonder why they listed their last name as Cameron? This clearly says that their last name is Galen, children of Martha Cameron Galen and Broderick Galen.”

“Who knows,” he said. “Maybe just assumed or ease of record keeping or maybe they were adopted or something?”

Studying the family tree in front of him, he shrugged, “Yeah … they were buried with the name of Galen, though. Maybe they used Galen as a middle name and just didn’t bother with Cameron since they were in the family cemetery?” Glancing back into the stacks, he said, “Hold that thought, I want to see if they have something.”

“What are you…?” Sam started, a harsh cough interrupting his question.

Glancing down at his brother, Dean frowned. “Do you need some water?”

Waving him off, Sam shook his head, “I’m fine. Go do whatever you were about to do.” Turning back to the censuses in front of him, he ignored the tickle in his throat until his brother walked away and then gave another series of coughs. 

“Get this,” Dean said, appearing at the table with two more photocopies 15 minutes later. Holding them out, he said, “Check it out.”

“I got something too,” Sam said, pointing to the censuses. “See anything different?” Taking the photocopies, he pushed the three census books toward the other man. Reading what Dean had highlighted, he said, “So in early March 1862, Brodie N. G. and Stuart B. G. enlisted under the name Cameron,” he said, glancing up from the enlistments’ roles of the Army of the West that Dean had handed him. “Don’t you think it’s strange that they were using the last name Cameron but buried under the name Galen?” 

“I don’t know but did you see the other page?”

Flipping to the next page, he scanned it and nodded, “And Rory did join the Union Army, Army of West Tennessee, which isn’t confusing at all. We were right about that and Rory went in first part of April, a few weeks after Brodie and Stuart, who enlisted together.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah … a house divided, brother against brother, cousins’ war and all that.” He sighed, “Shitty when family is on different sides like that. What am I looking at in these censuses, Sammy? Censuses? Censi? Censee?” Laughing, he pushed the books slightly at his brother, “Show me what you’re seeing.”

Pulling his thoughts away from his brother’s careless words, he sneezed twice and sniffled before saying quickly, “Fine, just dust.” 

“Didn’t say anything,” Dean said, holding up his hands. “Thinking things, but didn’t say them,” he added with a laugh.

Sam laughed, kicking him under the table, “Good, let’s keep it that way.”

“I’m watching you, Sammy,” he said, kicking back with a grin. “And time’s a wasting. We’re out of here in 20 minutes.”

“Second career as a kitchen timer,” he muttered, smiling as he pointed to Alexander Cameron’s listing in the 1840 census. “So, here’s Dad Alexander, wife Alice, a baby Alexander, and baby Rory.” Pointing to another line, he said, “And 17 slaves.”

“Right,” Dean said, nodding. “The Galen kids haven’t gotten there yet and the two sisters haven’t been born yet.”

“Right,” Sam said, pushing that book aside and pulling the 1850 census closer. “And here …”

“All the kids, Dad Alexander, Alice the wife, an older woman who looks to be Alice’s mother judging by the name and age, probably brought in to help with all the rugrats.” Dean glanced between the two listings and said, “And 20 slaves, but now we’ve got ages and sex and the wonderful detail that one of them is deaf and another is an imbecile.”

Sam nodded, “Keep that in mind and check out 1860.” Pointing to the section indicating 12 workers, his finger hovered over a listing for a deaf smithy and a fieldworker listed as imbecilic. 

Glancing between the two lists, Dean said, “Huh. Same people probably, just eye balling ages and genders.” He looked at his brother and shrugged, “So? We figured those 12 were slaves.”

“Yeah, but they’re not slaves,” Sam said, flipping to the next page and another family listing, pointing to a section. “This is how they list slaves and they’re identified as slaves. The Cameron listing shows them as workers, which means free black workers … not slaves.”

Sitting back in his chair, Dean frowned slightly, thinking. “OK … so Dad Alexander freed his slaves sometime between 1850 and 1860 but most stayed on and worked for him.” Shifting in his seat, he nodded, “I guess that makes sense and a good case for why Rory joined the Union army.”

Sam glanced into the stacks and the elderly research librarian behind the desk who had been helping them and said, “I’m sure there’s records somewhere of when and if he said anything or if there was any … explanation.”

Gathering up the copies into a neat pile, Dean nodded, “Maybe, but we’re done for the day. We can come back Monday and look, if we need to, or we might have enough with this info.” He glanced at the clock, “Time for lunch and then the movies, if you’re feeling up to it.” Standing up and shoving the papers into Sam’s bag he said, “Let’s go … up and at ‘em.”

“I really think …”

“Nope,” Dean said firmly, picking up the bag and motioning for his brother to stand up. “Lunch time. We can look at the rest of this when we get home or tomorrow, go back to the cemetery, and see if we can figure out who is who.” He shrugged again, “Because really, the why doesn’t matter. It’s all about the who and where, who they are and where they’re buried so we can dig them up, salt, and burn. They might have been saints and fighting for the righteous and the good guys in 1859, 1875, or 1900 but right now, they’re a problem and need to move along.”

Staring at the other man for a long moment, Sam reluctantly nodded. Dean was usually better at dealing with the simple black and white, cutting through the clutter and the noise to the true heart of the issue, and keeping them focused on the mission and the job. The job here was to simply get rid of ghosts that were bothering someone … Dave and the Chipmunks might have been the best people when they were alive but those days were long gone. Now, they was simply the job and something to be gotten rid of. He stood up, nodding, “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go eat, I guess.”

Dean clapped him on the back, “There’s the excitement I like to hear from you when it comes to eating lately!”

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his bag back and shouldered it. “Just nothing heavy and maybe something green.”

“I know the perfect place,” he confirmed, leading the way out of the historical center. “Ashley, who helped pull that family tree, was telling me about it and there’s a flier for it up on the bulletin board. Copeland’s, supposed to have the best meat and three around and killer cornbread.”

Sam laughed, “You and three vegetables? This I want to see.” Walking to the car, he leaned on the side, watching his brother catch his breath. “You OK?”

“Fine,” he said shortly before giving in and coughing twice. Unlocking the car, he slid in and grinned as Sam sat down next to him. Starting the car, he said, “And, have you forgotten where we are, Sam?”

“Ummm… no,” he said, puzzled. “Why?”

Dean laughed, pulling out and carefully weaving through the light traffic, “We’re in the south, dude. Macaroni & cheese is considered a vegetable, fried tomatoes and fried corn cakes are vegetables, deviled eggs and potato salad are vegetables, I will have no problem eating my vegetables.”

Staring at him for a long moment, Sam finally laughed, shaking his head again. “OK but don’t come crying to me if you aren’t hungry for that nasty licorice you bought for the movies. And what makes the cornbread killer?”

He shook his head, “Sam, Sam, Sam … two things … first, licorice is not nasty and second, I will always be hungry for those little bites of heaven.” Pulling into the parking lot of a small restaurant a few minutes later, he grinned, “And we’re about to find out about the killer cornbread. Come on.”

Sam laughed again as the got out, “Sure hope we don’t have to put it down, being a killer and all.”

Dean grinned at him, “Oh, we’re putting it down for sure.”

“Whoa,” Sam said, stepping into the slightly dim movie theater an hour later. Glancing back as Dean came up behind him, he grinned and nodded, “Nice, huh?” 

Surveying the large seats, he grinned and nodded. “Very.” Leading the way, he settled about halfway up and on the edge, stepping back and motioning for Sam to go in first. Putting his coke down in the holder, he sat down and sighed. “Very nice,” he repeated with a grin as he pushed a button and a footrest extended up. Laughing, he grinned at his brother. “We’ve got to come back here.”

Sam laughed, shifting in his own seat and getting comfortable. Glancing around the empty theater, he said, “Yeah, a step up from the crap places we usually go.”

Holding out the popcorn, Dean nodded, “Want some?”

Sam shook his head, “No. Lunch was plenty.”

“You did a good job at it,” Dean confirmed with a smile. “It was good to see,” he added, quietly, turning his attention to the screen as the lights went down.

Glancing over at his brother, he debated about saying anything or making his own joke about lunch but, instead, decided to simply accept the compliment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m working on it.”

“I know,” he confirmed. Putting the popcorn down on the table between them, he pulled a bag of licorice out of his coat pocket and ate a few pieces. Sighing contently, he whispered, “Like little bits of chewy heaven.”

“That taste like dirt,” Sam added, laughing. Reaching out, he swiped a handful of popcorn and munched it slowly as the coming attractions started. “That’s here, too,” he said a moment later. “Maybe next week?”

Dean grinned, “Old fashion ghost movie, haunted house … what’s not to love.” Reaching for more popcorn, he laughed, “It’s like our lives.”

Sam laughed, eating more of the popcorn. “I draw the line if they come out with a new Chipmunks movie, though.”

“Nah,” Dean said, “the last one just came out. It’ll be a little while.” Glancing over at his brother, he laughed at Sam’s expression. Shrugging, he said, “What? I see the commercials!”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, laughing again. Settling into his seat, he sighed as the movie started. “Chipmunk movies …” he said half to himself, shaking his head. Going to the movies had always been an easy escape for them growing up. It was cheap entertainment and no one looked twice at a teenager taking his younger brother on a Saturday afternoon. It got them out of the hotel or the rental house, giving their dad a break or helped kill the time if John was gone somewhere. They had often snuck into a second movie after the first one ended by hiding in the bathroom, taking ballcaps or jackets on or off on the off chance that the bored teenagers working the theaters were paying attention. His brother had never cared too much about how scary a movie was but had drawn a hard line on movies that were rated R for sex and flat out refused to even discuss taking his brother to one of those movies. Yawning, he tried to watch the movie and not get lost down memory lane.

Glancing over 30 minutes later, Dean wasn’t surprised to see Sam fast asleep. He grinned and ate another piece of licorice.

OOooOOooOO

Sitting at the dining table the next morning, research and photocopies spread out on the table, he asked, “Want to look at this?”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Dean called from the kitchen. Coming into the room a moment later, he put down a plate with a cut up apple by his brother before sitting down with his own cup of coffee. “What am I looking at?”

Glancing at the apple, Sam sighed and reluctantly picked up a piece and ate half. “Get this, it sounds sick but the good thing about so many of the Cameron kids dying young is that it helps narrow our list or at least our list of educated guesses.”

Dean shrugged, “Sick but valid point.” Picking up the copy of the family tree, he skimmed his brother’s notes. “You’re matching up who is buried out there with the tree?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, eating the other half of piece of apple. “Just as a starting point. As possessive as Rory and the Chipmunks are, and maybe Dave too, I figure it’s a good guess they are buried out there.” Nodding toward their notes from the cemetery, he said, “I’ve narrowed Dave down, at least.”

“Dad Alexander or Broderick Galen,” Dean said, reading the notes. Glancing up, he said, “You think Galen would care enough to hang around?”

Sam shrugged, “No clue. His wife and two of his three kids are there, at least. There’s a block with M.P. on it, which could be Little Martha. She died almost 20 years before Rory and since they grew up together here, he might have wanted her either buried with her brothers and mother or just noted in the family plot. She married Frankland Price but Price isn’t there.”

“And all of her kids lived to ripe old ages and had kids of their own,” Dean continued, scanning the family tree. “So, a toss-up if Little Martha is there with the rest of her family or just a marker there.”

“Right,” Sam said. “And Alexander, of course, makes sense.”

“Dave seemed older than 41,” Dean said, nudging at the plate an apple pieces, “and that’s basically how old Galen was.”

Sam laughed, “Yeah but look at Rory and have you seen pictures from the Civil War? Those guys all looked old. I remember seeing a photo of Stonewall Jackson and he looked like Dad’s age, at least, but was only 39 when he died.” Picking up another piece of apple, he ate it and then, with a grin, nudged the plate back at his brother. “You too.”

“How in god’s name do you know that?” Dean asked, shaking his head and smiling as he picked up an apple slice.

“I remember things!” Sam shot back defensively before smiling. “Google.”

Dean laughed, “Yeah, I knew even you weren’t that good. My money is on Alexander.”

“Mine too,” he confirmed. “And he’s buried out there, so that’s two of the three or four.” 

Nodding, Dean said, “Yeah, to keep it simple, let’s stick with our original theory of the three Chipmunks and Dave. Rory’s little speech to us wouldn’t make sense if his Dad was standing in the mist behind him.”

“And if Alexander was there, I don’t see him letting Rory be the spokesman spokesspook,” he said, correcting himself with a grin. “Someone his age, his generation, no way would he let his son take over.” When his brother nodded, Sam slid another sheet of paper over toward him, “And the short list for the other two Chipmunks.” Picking up another apple slice, he watched his brother read the information. “What do you think?”

Scanning the list, Dean nodded, “Looks like Brodie and Stuart are the best guesses.”

“There are three stone blocks with just initials that I can’t match up to anyone on the family tree,” Sam said, grabbing their handwritten list and pointing to the entries. “But I figure with the sticking power of these ghosts, the chances are high that they feel as deep as an attachment to the land as Rory does and that means either close family members or truly buried here.”

“And as cousins who were raised here and lived here almost their whole lives, that certainly applies to Brodie and Stuart,” Dean confirmed. With a sigh, he pushed the paper back, saying, “They are all going to be a bitch to dig up.” Eating another apple slice, he shook his head slightly, “All those roots and rocks….”

“I know,” Sam said, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s just pray their coffins held up otherwise …”

Dean chuckled, coughing twice, and laying his head down on his folded arms on the table. “Ugh, I hate having try to fish out bones from lose dirt. It’s dirty, gross, and the chances of getting everything …” Sitting up, he coughed again and said, laughing slightly, “Our lives suck sometimes.”

Sam laughed, “Sometimes, man? Try most times.” Eating another apple slice, he said quietly, “But it’s not all bad or anything. Plenty of good, too.”

The other man smiled, nodding, “Yeah. Plenty of good for sure and we keep surviving the bad.” Shifting his gaze to the window on the other side of his brother, his mind immediately started cataloging the bad … all the death, all the fear, the darkness that seemed to have taken up a permanent hole in his soul the first few months he lived with Lisa and Ben and how that hole had only scarred over but had never gone away until Sam had returned. Then, the growing fear and anger as the understanding of what Sam had become made itself known and how that fear had been worse than the crushing sadness when Sam had been killed years prior. That time, those few days, the sense of loss was so raw and shocking, he had been unable to really comprehend it. Last year though, when Sam’s soul was missing and then returned damaged almost beyond repair, he had known the harsh reality of what exactly his life was like without his brother. That knowledge made him face the cold, hard truth and he knew, deep down, he couldn’t survive such a loss again; didn’t want to survive it again. 

Reaching out, Sam touched his hand, saying, “Hey, man, like you keep telling me … don’t go anywhere, stay here. Just us, we’re here, real, together and we’ve got this.”

Blinking several times, Dean coughed again. “Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “Plenty of good, for sure,” he repeated.

“Right,” Sam agreed, letting a more comfortable silence fall over the room. Picking up an apple slice, he nudged the plate back toward his brother and smiled as the other man picked up a slice.

Munching on the slice, he peered out the windows behind the table and yawned, studying the gray clouds. “The weather this morning was talking about rain and snow showers and it certainly looks like it.”

Sneezing twice, Sam glanced out the window and sighed. “Screw it,” he said suddenly. “Today isn’t the day to go digging around anyway. It’s cold, you’re tired, I’m tired …”

“I’m fine,” Dean shot back, pulling his attention back to his brother with a frown. “But I agree, it’s cold and rainy and I don’t want you out in this.”

“And I don’t want you out in it, either,” Sam said. Kicking his brother under the table, he grinned as the other man kicked him back. Standing up, he said, “Come on, the Super Bowl is tomorrow and I’m sure you’d like snacks. And before we go screwing around trying to dig up 150 year old coffins, I’d like to see if we can have another chat with the Chipmunks and Dave, now that we know their real names. I say we make up a quick grocery list, hit the store and Redbox again and take it easy. If the weather clears, we’ll break out the marshmallows and see if we can get them talking again.” 

Dean yawned again and stood up. Smiling, he said, “Sounds like a plan, Sammy and if you’re interested in food, I’m fully on board for making that happen.” Picking up the plate of apple slices, he held it out, “Come sit in the kitchen and finish these, while I make the list.”

“Read ‘em and weep,” Dean said, grinning and laying down his cards and causing his brother to groan dramatically. “That’s right, Sammy boy, three in a row!” Laughing, he pushed the cards toward his brother to shuffle and deal the next hand. 

Shaking his head, Sam laughed, “Yeah, I knew that was going to be a bad, bad hand. When you get dealt nothing that even matches, it’s a free for all and hard to get started.” Nodding toward his empty glass, he said, “While I shuffle, will you get me something else to drink?”

Dean nodded, glancing at the clock as he picked up both of their glasses. Hitting his brother lightly on the head with one of the glasses while he passed, adding, “No cheating!”

“Ha! As if!” Sam protested, shuffling the cards. They had gotten home from their few errands just before lunch and after eating the simple sandwiches, had sat down to play cards. The threatened rain had started during lunch and, with the temperatures hovering in the mid-30s, the day was made for inside activities. Pushing the stack of cards toward his brother’s empty seat, waiting for the other man to get back, he coughed several times and laid his head on his folded arms, yawning. 

“Last hand for a while,” Dean said firmly, coming back from the kitchen with the two glasses. Pulling a blister packet of pills from his pocket, he dropped them in front of his brother. “And go ahead and take your pills while we’re thinking about it.”

“We’re thinking of it?” Sam asked, sitting up and smiling slightly. Nodding toward the cards, he said, “Cut.”

“Pills,” he countered, hand resting on the stack but not moving. 

Popping them free, he quickly downed them and then, laughing, opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. “Happy?”

Dean laughed, cutting the cards before shoving them back in his brother’s direction. “Yes,” he said simply. Smiling slightly, he sipped at his water and realized the truth behind the statement. “I am,” he said, quietly, not looking up from the drink in his hand. “It’s been awhile.” 

Glancing up, he watched his brother for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Me too.” 

Rapping the table, Dean grinned, “Deal the cards and watch me make it four in a row.”

Sam grinned, shaking his head, “Nope, you’re going down this hand for sure.” 

“Stacking the deck again, Sam?”

He laughed, finishing the quick deal and putting the remaining cards in the middle. “You cut, man.” Shuffling the cards in his hand, he asked quietly, “Did you and Lisa play cards?” 

“No,” Dean said, keeping his eyes firmly on the cards. Picking one up and discarding one from his hand, he added quietly, “Checkers and chess … those were her games. She had this beautiful chess set from her grandfather or maybe great-grandfather … ivory, ebony, mother of pearl and shit like that. Beautiful. She taught Ben to play when he was young and then taught me.”

Allowing the game to quietly unfold and serve as a distraction, Sam nodded. “Cool. I’ve always wanted to learn chess but never got around to it.”

“It’s not hard,” Dean confirmed, drawing from the deck and tossing the card almost immediately with a sigh. A minute later, he added, “I could teach you and there’s tons of programs online where you can play.”

Glancing up, Sam smiled, “That’d be fun. Move from hustling pool and poker to hustling chess nerds.” 

Dean laughed, shaking his head, “Yeah before you start thinking that, you should check out some of those so called nerds. I think they could dish out some serious pain. They’re not all 12 year old boys with tape on their glasses.” Picking up Sam’s recent discard with a satisfied smile, he put down one of his own cards. 

Sam laughed, “I’ll do that.”

Taking a sip of his water, he asked quietly a minute later, “What about you and Jess? Cards? Board games?” When his brother didn’t answer for a long boat, he laughed slightly, adding, “Strip twister? Strip poker?” He laughed again, watching the other man blush, “And there’s the blush! I knew I was right with strip poker. Just not sure if you used your card skills to win or lose … and it’s really hard to tell with strip poker.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head, “Jerk.”

Dean laughed but didn’t push, instead, focusing his attention back on the cards.

“We’d host Game Night the first Sunday of the month,” he said quietly. “Potluck thing, there were seven or eight other friends, someone would bring a game and we had a bunch that her parents had given her. Everyone brought food and it was kind of fun to try new recipes and new games. Sometimes we’d play guys against the girls or draw for random groups or whatever.” Coughing once, he took a sip of water and drew another card before quickly discharging it. “Want to know something?” he asked, glancing up at his brother.

“Of course,” Dean said, with a quick smile before focusing his attention back on his own hand. 

“It’s kind of stupid …” he said, shaking his head.

“Nothing wrong with stupid.”

Staring at his cards, Sam said quietly, “She was all excited to try this new cheesecake recipe she wanted to bring to her folks for Thanksgiving. I’d met them, of course, multiple times, but I hadn’t gone home, to her parents’ place, for Thanksgiving before and she was all nervous. It was a big deal, cousins, aunts, uncles, the whole clan.” Glancing up, he smiled slightly, “You know?”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Big holiday, all the family, and the boyfriend.”

Sam grinned slightly, “Yeah. She’d made like … four cheesecakes in October already because she wanted to find the perfect one. This one was some sort of cranberry one. I’d already tried a pumpkin, some sort of apple and caramel thing, and a really gross sweet potato one.” He laughed, “I was so cheesecaked out but she was so excited and nervous. We had an old cheesecake pan, one of those spring ones?” 

Dean nodded, “Yeah, springform.”

“Right. So, ours was old, I think she got it from her mom or something, and she was making all these cheesecakes so I went to Target and bought her a new one right before Halloween. She was so excited, especially since I think I kind of bummed her out by moaning about no more cheesecake.” He laughed, shaking his head. “We compromised because I just couldn’t eat another one, so she was going to make it for our November game night.” He swallowed hard, “But of course …” He shrugged, quickly looking back at his cards with a cough as he picked one up off the deck and discarded one in his hand. “Anyway … I don’t know what made me think of that.” His voice trailed off as he shrugged again. “Kind of doubt they did anything for Thanksgiving that year.”

Dean looked at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the cards, saying, “No, probably not.”

Sam laughed softly a few minutes later, laying down his cards. “Streak broken!” 

“Sam,” he called out, “dinner in like 5 minutes!” His brother had left the kitchen 15 minutes earlier and still hadn’t reappeared. “No way are you skipping a meal, dude,” he said, walking down the hall a minute later, the baked chicken now pulled from the oven. Surprised to see the bathroom door open and the room dark, he hesitated in front of the closed master bedroom door. Knocking, he said, “You in there?”

“Yeah, out in a minute,” Sam said a long pause later. 

Hesitating, Dean shuffled slightly outside the door for several long moments before saying, “Not to get too personal or anything but are you in there for … fun reasons … or can I come in?”

“You can come in,” he said. Sitting up as the door opened, he smiled weakly and swiped at his face. “Just … sometimes,” he started, before his voice trailed off and he shook his head again. “Just …”

Coming in and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to his brother, Dean nodded, “I get it.” Bumping against him slightly, he added, “Sort of. Lisa and Ben aren’t dead but … to me, they are. And thanks to what I put them through, they don’t even remember me or what we had.” He sighed, “Just … sometimes, sums it up nicely, I think.” 

“I just can’t stop thinking about those stupid cheesecakes,” Sam said softly, wiping at his face again. “She was making it because I loved cheesecake and so did her dad and he and I had sort of … bonded, if you will, over this place near campus that made great cheesecake. The owner was a friend of this lady who was famous for it and when she closed her restaurant, she passed the recipe along and created this new bakery. The first time they came to visit, Jess made me go pick it up and her dad came along.” Sam laughed, “I swear, dude, I was so nervous to be driving her car, which I did often enough but, still, not with him in the passenger seat.”

Dean laughed, bumping his brother, “Good thing I taught you to drive well under pressure.”

Sam laughed, nodding, “Yeah. At least he was just watching me, not actively bleeding out in the backseat.”

“New Salem?” Dean asked, glancing at him.

“New Salem,” Sam confirmed, shaking his head. “Those were some nasty witches … impaling you like that? Scared the shit out of me and trying to drive with you in the backseat going in and out of consciousness. I had you moaning in the backseat, Dad alternating between giving me directions to where he was and yelling at me for letting you get hurt … good times.” He shuddered again. “Unlike that time, I did exactly the speed limit, used my turn signals religiously, I was like a little old lady driver.”

“I bet he was impressed,” he said, nodding, wanting to keep his brother talking. He had tried several times in the months after Jess died but had been firmly shot down and then after that, she was rarely brought up again. The younger man had mentioned Lucifer had used her image to tempt him prior to their big showdown and then afterwards, hints that the torment had continued in the cage. Now, the memories seemed more relaxed, natural, healthy, and he wanted that to continue. 

Sam laughed, shrugging. “I don’t know, we talked about cheesecake and he told me about one his mother made and how his wife got the recipe and they used it to celebrate special times. He never asked me about my classes or my family or anything like that. We just talked about cheesecake and toppings and fruit versus chocolate versus plain.” Shaking his head, he laughed again, “It was the strangest 30 minute round trip ride of my life.” He glanced at Dean, adding, “And for us, that says a lot!”

“And made cheesecake sort of your thing with him,” Dean confirmed. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding again, smiling slightly. Staring off into space for a long moment, he said softly, “I think she knew I was going to ask him for his permission, blessing, whatever … tell him that I was going to ask her to marry me over Christmas.” He paused for a second before saying in a softer voice, “I think she was looking for like the perfect family recipe that would be part of our story, that there would be this thing we’d have and could tell our kids about.”

Pulling his brother in close, Dean hugged him tight as he started to cry softly. “I can see that, man,” he said quietly a minute later. “It would have been a great story.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just …”

“Yep,” Dean confirmed. 

“I hate cheesecake now,” Sam said softly, sitting up several minutes later and swiping at his face.

Recognizing the recovery tactic and unspoken desire to move on, Dean stood up, briefly resting his hand on his brother’s head before dropping it to his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, no cheesecake here and chicken and green beans on the menu for tonight. If you’re good, we have the apple and cranberry pie I made yesterday after the movies.”

Sam smiled, catching his brother’s hand before it was pulled away and squeezing it tight. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Pie is perfect.”

Nodding toward the bathroom, he said, “Go wash your face, blow your nose, fix your make up and I expect to see you at the table in two minutes.”

Sam laughed, standing up. “Or no pie, huh?”

Dean laughed, “No, I’ll make you eat two slices.” Heading back into the kitchen to check on the food and try to reheat it, he sighed, mind flashing to Lisa and the meals they had shared and the sickening tug of the djinn induced fantasy life he had experienced for what felt like days.

“Redbox tonight?” Sam asked, coming into the kitchen. Moving toward the cabinets, he grabbed two glasses and said, “What can I help with?”

“Set the table, please,” he said with a quick smile. “And yeah, Moneyball looks good.” Their other choice was Contagion and the idea of watching people die right now seems like a very bad idea. It was going back tomorrow and they were going to stick to happy movies for a while, he silently decided. 

OOooOOooOO

“Got everything?” Sam asked the next afternoon, holding the door to the house open for his brother to carry the tray of food outside to the firepit. He had started the fire 20 minutes earlier and then, once it was going nicely, came inside to help gather lunch stuff.

“Just need whatever you want to drink and grab a coke for me, please,” Dean said, heading outside. 

Coming outside a minute later, Sam put the two cans down by their chairs and scanned the woods and fields behind the house where they had seen the ghosts before. 

“Feel like we’re being watched again?” Dean asked casually, not looking up from the hot dog buns he was wrapping in foil to heat up.

Sam nodded, “Yep.” Taking the buns from his brother, he frowned, “Two each?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I want two, you should eat two because that what you ate before.” Threading a hot dog on each roasting fork, he nodded toward the pit, “After you, Sammy.” It was a little chilly but not cold and the rain from the day before had moved out, leaving behind crystal clear blue skies and no wind. Using the short walk from the table to the pit as an excuse, he scanned the woods and fields as he sat down.

Putting the buns on the outside edge of the fire where they could slowly warm, Sam sat down next to his brother and took one of the forks. “What time does the game start tonight?” he asked.

Dean laughed, “I think the pre pre pre pre game show started a few minutes ago. Kickoff is 6:30ish so I figured we’d turn it on around 5:30 or so?” Rotating his hot dog, he said, “Looking for revenge at cards this afternoon?”

Sam grinned, “Yes, but considering I believe I’m the reigning champion, your small bit of luck yesterday notwithstanding, I think you’re the one who should be looking for revenge.” Turning his own hot dog, he said, “And I’ll cook dinner tonight since you’ve gotten it like every other night so far, and lunch.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shot his brother a look before saying, “Oh gee, Sammy, thank you for agreeing to cook the frozen pizza we bought. How kind of you!”

Sam laughed again, “Hey! I have to shred the cheese and add extra pepperoni, too!”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Dean said, shaking his head, smiling. “That makes a difference and totally counts.” Rotating his fork again, he studied his hot dog. “What time are we meeting Marion on Wednesday?” Dean asked.

Sam glanced at him, “You mean Marie? The house’s owner?”

“Marie, Marion, same thing,” Dean said with a shrug. 

“We’re meeting for coffee at 10:00 at some place she recommended,” Sam said. “I have it written down inside.”

Coughing slightly, he scanned the open field again and said, quietly, “See something at the tree line at about 10, 11 o’clock?” Looking at his hot dog again, he casually glanced at his brother. He stood up and passed his fork to Sam, saying, “Here, hold this.”

Using the movement, Sam turned his head slightly and coughed several times, glancing at the tree line. Taking the fork, he nodded, “Yeah, looks like our Mist is back.”

Dean bent down and grabbed the bun packet as he said, “That’s what I thought. We’re just going to sit here and see what it does?” Standing back up, he moved to the table and unwrapped the buns. “Here, let me have those and I’ll make them for us.”

Twisting, Sam passed over the food as he said, “Yeah, no sense trying to chase it. Rory has made it clear he’ll come to us when he wants to talk. We’ll just keep an eye out and see what they do.” Kicking his foot slightly against the bag of salt and two iron bars laying casually along the edge of their chairs, half buried in gravel, he added, “And we’re prepared.”

Handing over the prepared hot dog a moment later, Dean nodded and glanced at the tree line. “Here you go, eat up, Sam.” Sitting down a moment later with his own hot dog, he took a bite and grinned, “Excellent. Nothing beats this flavor.”

Sam laughed, “It is good, much better then in a hot box and a little rolling wire rack.”

“Bite your tongue!” Dean said, grinning and shaking his head. “How dare you even speak of these beauties and those abominations in the same breath!” Taking another bite, he groaned softly.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Sam asked, laughing again as he took a bit. “I feel better,” he said quietly. “Thanks for listening last night. It’s easy to get lost down a dark hole and sometimes … kind of forget what’s real and what’s not.”

Trying hard not to react to the immediate flood of members of Sam’s actions and confusion during his worst days, Dean simply nodded. “Of course. I told you, we’re in this together. I’ve got your back.”

Sam smiled, “And the only one who can legitimately kick my ass.”

He laughed, “Well, yeah but that goes without saying.” Nodding toward the half eaten hot dog his brother was holding, he added, “Eat.”

Stretching an hour later, Sam watched his marshmallow get wonderfully toasted for another second before pulling it out of the fire and bringing it closer to the waiting graham cracker and chocolate piece. “That’s how you make a s’more,” he said with a small chuckle. 

Dean shook his head, “No, it’s not melty enough in the middle. It needs to be much darker.”

“I’m not eating charcoal,” he said. Putting the stick down, he glanced at the mist still hovering in the same spot. “I think we should wave at it. Maybe he’s waiting for us to make the first move.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, pulling his own marshmallow. “Let me finish this masterpiece and then we’ll wave and see what happens.” Smiling, he added, “But if they come roaring down from the trees and slime me, you are definitely in charge of laundry.”

Sam laughed, “Deal.”

“I think you’re right, about what you said earlier. I think this would be a good way to spend the next year or so. I’m tired … of everything right now. I deserve a break; we deserve a break,” Dean said simply, not looking away from the fire. Popping the last third of his s’more in his mouth, he chewed quickly and smiled, “Delicious. OK, let’s see if we can get old Rory to talk.” Standing up, he waked toward the edge of the parking and looked full on at the mist. He raised his hand, giving a casual wave.

Staring at him, desperate to ask for clarification and to talk about the comment just casually tossed off out of the blue, Sam said, “Hey, let’s talk about that for a second.”

Dean glanced at him, smiling slightly and shaking his head. “Later. Right now, we’ve got incoming. Plus, I said you were right, not sure what else there is to talk about.”

“Later, for sure,” Sam confirmed, grabbing the two iron bars, he casually picked them up and passed one to his brother as he stood next to him, watching the mist approach. 

Stopping about 20 feet away from the two men, it hovered in mid-air.

“Hey Rory,” Dean said casually, smiling. “Good to see you again. And is that Stuart and Brodie with you?” He glanced at Sam for a second before turning back to the mist. “That’s what we’re thinking at least. Always nice with cousins get along so well, especially since you were raised together and basically the same age.”

The mist wavered slightly in the air, seeming to pulse gently but stayed as a formed mass.

Sam glanced over at his brother, shrugging slightly. “We’d love to chat again, guys,” he said, trying to match Dean’s casual tone. “We’re meeting with the property owner in a few days and we want to give her an update.”

Dean frowned, adding in a firm voice a moment later, “We want to work with you but we also have a job. We know who you are, where you’re buried, and that means we can make you disappear, permanently. If you’re happy, if you don’t cause problems, we want you to stay but we can’t find a compromise if you don’t talk to us. If you don’t talk to us, we have no choice but to deal with you another way.”

The mist suddenly split into three part.

“That got their attention,” Sam said softly, shifting slightly to the left to better cover the edge. 

The right most column of mist suddenly formed into a young man dressed casually like Rory had been, in simple slacks and a button down shirt. He was clean shaven and smiled slightly as he bowed his head in greeting. “A pleasure, gentlemen,” he said formally. “As you correctly surmised, I am Brodie Cameron, Galen actually even though I never used that name after the age of three.” Glancing over, he smiled as the middle column of mist formed into another younger man. Clearly related, he too bowed his head slightly. “My brother, Stuart and of course, our cousin, Rory.” The third column formed into Rory, dressed as he was before. 

Dean smiled, “A pleasure to meet you all.” Turning to Sam, he whispered, “I love it when we’re right.”

He chuckled softly before saying, “Thank you for coming to talk to us.”

Rory glanced at his cousins before taking a small step forward, frowning. “While we are happy to talk, please note that our position has not changed. This is our land, we were raised here, toiled here, fought for it, and loved it,” he said firmly.

Nodding, Stuart said, “And left it only with the greatest of reluctance.” He and his brother exchanged glances before he said, “Now that we are once again allowed to return home, we have no intention of leaving.”

“And I have no intention of separating from my brothers again,” Rory said firmly. 

“Brothers from a different mother,” Dean said quietly, grinning at Sam.

Stuart nodded slightly, “Yes, of course. My mother, Martha, was the youngest sister of Alexander, Rory’s father. My own father was Broderick Galen. While technically we are cousins, we were raised as brothers.”

“And remain brothers,” Brodie added firmly.

Sam nodded, “We understand.” Motioning to Dean, he said, “We’re brothers and fully respect the relationship and love of family. But the owner of the house is scared, her guests are scared, and she’s asked us to do something about it.”

Glancing at the other two ghosts, Brodie said, “She has our deepest apologies. We have no desire to scare a woman or make her or her guests feel unwelcome or unsafe. You have my word, our word, that we mean them no harm and simply wish to go about our business peacefully.”

“But your business is over,” Dean said firmly, locking eyes with Brodie. “Your business ended about 150 years ago. It’s time to move on, go to your eternal peace, enjoy some virgins, play with harps, whatever you want but not here.”

Rory shook his head, “I dislike repeating myself, sir, but I will do it for the sake of clarity. This is our home, our land, and we are not leaving.”

Stuart smiled at Sam and Dean, holding up his hands slightly. “Gentlemen, before tempers flare hotter, perhaps a compromise may be found.” He glanced at his brothers on either side of him for a moment before saying, “We all agree that it is unkind and ungentlemanly to frighten women and children and if our actions are in fact doing that, perhaps we are the ones who must adjust course.”

Brodie shook his head, “No, we are simply going about our business. She has our word that we will never enter the home, never harm her or her guests. We simply wish to be left alone but we will not leave.”

“This is our home more so then her’s,” Rory said, glancing across to Brodie with a firm nod of his head. “We have given up and sacrificed too much to simply go now; our father risked his soul and eternal damnation for this land, and it is ours through blood, sweat, and too many tears.”

“You’re leaving us no choices here, guys,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what happens if we dig up all your bones and burn them.” Glancing at Sam for a moment, he turned back to the ghosts and said, “Our dad use to say it was death to ghosts, that they just disappeared. I think it’s better if you simply move on yourself. Find a door, go toward the light, call out for a reaper, something.”

Sam nodded, “We’ve helped a few ghosts like you, good men and women who just got stuck, move on and they always looked peaceful when they made the decision themselves. They looked happy and ready, it’s much better than if we’re forced to do it.”

Brodie gave a harsh laugh, “And you send us on our way by burning our bones?”

“Yes,” Sam said, nodding.

Stuart laughed, slightly nicer in sound than his brother’s, and shook his head. “Good luck to you, sirs. We were both killed in the heat of battle, cannons and ordnances going off for days. They would try to drag the bodies and the bits and parts off the field as the fighting moved on but …” He shrugged, “The price of war.”

“I put the tombstones up as soon as I returned home,” Rory said firmly, moving closer to the other ghosts. “They are my brothers and while we may have parted with harsh words, I wanted them at least symbolically resting with their mother and sister and remembered by all of us. I tried to locate the bodies twice but was unable to. I’m sure your luck will be no better.”

“Tell the mistress of the house that we mean her no harm,” Brodie said, moving closer to the other two ghosts. “You have our word as gentlemen, but you also have my word that we’re not leaving.” Moving closer, they exchanged glances and quickly, silently, dissolved back into the mist cloud that dissipated a moment later. 

Dean glanced at his brother and shook his head, “And that was a fucking disaster.”

Sam nodded, staring off into the distance. “Yeah,” he said, before coughing. Shaking his head, he said, “At least we’re right about the Chipmunks.” He glanced at his brother before moving back to their chairs and sitting down with a yawn. “Have a seat, let’s give it another 30 minutes or so and see if Dave shows up again. Last time we saw him, it wasn’t too long after the Chipmunks left.”

Studying his brother for a moment, Dean glanced at his watch before adding another log to the fire and giving the embers a stir to encourage it to catch. “Half hour, tops,” he said, picking up the tray of food and wrappings, “and then we’re going in. Stay here, I’ll be right back. I want to get something more to drink and put this stuff away.”

“Bring me something, too, please,” Sam called. Yawning again, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. The sun felt good and the heat from the fire was enough to make the air around the firepit comfortable enough with his jacket on. Yawning again, he shifted in the chair and tried to force his eyes open as he heard the door to the house open again and the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel several long minutes later. “I’m awake,” he mumbled. 

“Looks like it,” Dean said, sitting back down and putting two mugs and a plate between them. “Stay … awake,” he said dryly and chuckled slightly. “I’ll let you know if anything shows up.” Slouching slightly in his own chair, he stared at the fire, replaying the earlier conversation with the three ghosts. Privately, he couldn’t blame them and knew that if he and Sam were the ghosts, being asked to leave the place they considered home, potentially being separated into the unknown, the refusal would be swift and firm. He sighed, reaching for his mug and taking a small sip. 

Sam coughed several times, sitting up and yawning again. “Told you I was awake,” he said, smiling slightly at his brother. Picking up the mug, he glanced in it and then at the other man. “What’s this?”

“Warm apple cider,” he said, taking another sip. 

“Seriously, dude?” he asked, smelling it briefly and then taking a sip. “Apple juice? What are we, five?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Cider, Sam. Fresh, nutritious apple cider. I got it at that place we stopped at for lunch the other day.” He took another sip, adding, “I wanted something warm, no caffeine, easy, and at least semi-nutritious. You have a checkup tomorrow with Dr. Gray and I want to make sure that things are looking good.”

Studying his brother for a second, Sam took another sip and then sighed, putting it down and laying his head back against the chair. “It’s good, actually,” he conceded. “Not as good as my hot chocolate but …” He laughed as Dead kicked at him, jerking his feet away.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “Drink up.” Nudging the plate toward him, he added, “And have something to eat, too.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam picked up a carrot stick and asked, “Any bright ideas on how to deal with the Chipmunks now that it seems like salting and burning Brodie and Stuart isn’t possible.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Assuming they’re telling the truth,” he said slowly.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Glancing at the woods, he said, “Not sure it’s worth digging around their tombstones on the off chance they’re lying. And not sure it’s worth salting and burning Rory, either.” He laughed, “We’ve seen what happens when we take out the wrong ghost and leave the other ones unsupervised.” 

He nodded, “Not sure that Rory is the most stable of those three but I’m not risking it, either.” Thinking for a minute, he said, “We could look at laying iron around the woods to trap them there, sort of like what we did with salt and Holmes’s spirit and the devil’s gate in Wyoming?”

Sam made a face, “Yeah, if we can get them on the right side of the iron. Or maybe do it around the house to keep them from getting too close?” Sneezing twice, he sniffled before taking a sip of cider. “This is good.”

“Glad you like it and the house is a much better idea,” Dean said, nodding. “And more … humane, if you will. We don’t want three or four psychotic ghosts in the woods, just waiting for some tourist to go exploring.” He shook his head, adding, “What a fucking mess.” Nudging the plate, he said, “Have another carrot, Sam. They’re good for you.”

Munching on a carrot stick, Sam scanned the fields and then froze, saying quietly, “Incoming at 1 o’clock.”

Dean pivoting his head and nodded, “Good. I was hoping he’d show up.” Standing up, he said, “Stay there.”

Not bothering to even comment, Sam stood up and stood next to his brother as the older ghost slowly walked toward them.

Glancing at him, Dean sighed and shook his head, “I wish for once you’d listen.”

Sam smiled and shrugged. Taking a deep breath, he coughed twice and then said, “Hi Alexander. Thanks for coming to speak with us.”

He paused, staring at them for a long moment before bowing his head slightly in greeting. “I understand that you spoke to my sons earlier.”

Dean glanced at his brother before turning his attention to the ghost. “Did they tell you that?”

Alexander smiled slightly and shook his head. “No, I observed the exchange, as I often observe them. They haven’t spoken to me in a long, long time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. 

“We’ll tell you the same thing we told them,” Dean said, his voice firm and steady. “We’ve been asked by the property’s owner to figure out who you are and move you along. Your presence here is scaring her and scaring her guests.”

Alexander frowned, “And for that I am sorry. Please pass along my sincerest apologies. I have done my best to avoid the living but if I have failed, I am very sorry.” He shook his head, “I caused enough hurt during my life that I must atone for and do not wish to continue to keep adding to the tally.”

Sam nodded, “We’ll tell her that. Have you thought about moving on? Searching for your door or going into the light?” Next to him, Dean snorted softly but he ignored it, focusing instead on the ghost in front of him. “It’s time to move on, Alexander.”

He shook his head, “I have unfinished business and until that is completed, I do not deserve peace.” Bowing his head again, he faded out.

Dean sighed and shook his head, “These guys are a mess.” Laughing, he gently hit his brother on the arm, “You crack me up with your ‘go into the light’ nonsense, Carol Ann.”

Sam laughed and shrugged, “We don’t know! It might look like light! There’s enough lore and legends that describe a door, a passageway of light, a tunnel of light … there’s got to be some truth in it.” He sneezed again and yawned, shaking his head again before saying, “But you’re right, these guys are a mess and I don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

“Nope but you’re going to bed,” Dean said. “It’s nap time, for sure with the way you keep yawning and don’t think I haven’t noticed the coughs and sneezes. We’re mentioning it all to Dr. Gray tomorrow.” Picking up the two mugs, he passed them off to his brother before picking up the plate and tossing the two remaining carrot sticks out into the field.

“Tattle tale,” he said, laughing and shaking his head at his brother. 

Dean laughed and shrugged, “Hey, I don’t want her mad at me. She’s got sharp pointy things at her disposal and knows how to use them.”

“Whatever, dude,” he said, grinning and shaking his head. “Come on, it’s getting colder and we can flip on the pre pre game show.” Walking into the house, he paused, holding the door for Dean and glanced across the fields. “I think the Chipmunks are back,” he said softly. 

Glancing behind him, Dean saw the mist cloud at the tree line again and sighed. “Screw it,” he said, pushing his brother slightly inside. “I’m done talking to them right now. You’re tired and I’m cold and have nothing else to say to them right now.”

Sam sighed, wanting to argue but also feeling the cold seeping into his bones as well and the warm air tempting him from inside the house. “We probably should go and see what they want,” he said half-heartedly.

“No, screw it,” he said firmly, pushing the other man more firmly. “Go in, I’m cold and over it and you’re exhausted. We’re done for the day; they had their chance. It’s nap time and then football and frozen pizza.” He grinned, laughing slightly and nodding toward the inside “Move it, Sam, we’re not heating the outdoors here.” 

He laughed, recognizing one of their dad’s complaints when they were growing up. “Yes, sir,” he replied, grinning at his brother. Going into the house, he rinsed the mugs quickly and put them into the dishwasher. Glancing at the other man, he laughed at his brother’s expression. “Hey, I remember the house rules!”

Dean grinned, “I’m glad. It’s stupid to put dishes in the sink when it takes just a few extra seconds to rinse them and stack them in the dishwasher. This way it’s done and …”

“The kitchen is clean,” Sam completed, shaking his head. “I know, I remember.” Turning and leaning on the counter while he dried his hands, he said, “God, I remember this one time you dragged me out of bed at like midnight to do dishes. You were furious!”

He frowned, “I don’t remember that, dude. That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

Sam laughed, “Ha! You had gotten home from work and were pissed the kitchen was a mess from my dinner or something. You woke me up and made me clean it. Very Mommy Dearest, of you.” He grinned, shaking his head, “No dishes in the sink!”

Laughing, Dean shook his head, “Well, if that story is right, I’m sure you deserved it and had been told numerous times to put away your dishes after dinner.” Glancing at the clock, he said, “Just like I’ve told you several times now to go take a nap and this time I mean it.”

He rolled his eyes, pushing off from the counter. “So bossy,” he muttered, passing in front of his brother, and then yelped as the other man swatted him across the butt. “Hey!”

“Smart ass,” he said, shaking his head and laughing as he grabbed his brother around the neck, dragging hm down slightly and rubbing his hair. “Bed, now Sammy, or no desert!”

Sam laughed again, pulling away, feeling instantly transported to multiple evenings of just the two of them, rough housing and laughing and harassing each other. His brother was always in charge and ran a tight ship when it was just the two of them, better to keep their father happy and ensure that they never drew the attention of other adults. They might have missed their dad but they were never truly lonely. “I’m going,” he said, smiling. 

“Good,” Dean said. “We’re going to finish up that apple and cranberry pie tonight and I’ll make something new tomorrow.”

Glancing up from his book 10 minutes later as his brother came into the bedroom, also changed from his jeans into sweatpants, Sam said, “You know … if I was one of the Chipmunks, I wouldn’t leave either without you or go if I wasn’t sure you were going too and going the same place. I just couldn’t … not now.”

Dean looked at him for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “No, not now, not after … everything. I couldn’t …” His voice trailed off as he shook his head again. Coughing slightly, he picked up his book and said lightly, “But we’re not dealing with that now so no sense thinking about it.”

“Right,” he said firmly. Yawning, feeling his eyes struggling to stay open several minutes later, he closed his book. “Wake me up in about 30 minutes, OK?”

“Yep, no problem,” Dean said, not looking up from his own book. 

Setting the oven temperature, Sam glanced at his brother sitting at the kitchen island watching him. “Want to talk about your statement this afternoon by the fire pit and me being right and you being tired?” Turning his attention to the refrigerator, he pulled out the block of mozzarella cheese and extra pepperoni. 

“Not really,” Dean said, laughing and shrugging. “Not much else to say. I think you’re right. I’m tired and over everything. It’s been a shitty couple of years and …” His voice trailed off and he shook his head again.

Sam glanced at him, “And you’re just over it?” Deliberately keeping his voice even and most of his attention focused on the food in front of him, he tried to give his brother the space he needed.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, coughing slightly. Sipping at the glass of water in front of him, he added quietly, “Just now … after Bobby and how close you came, again.” His voice trailed off and he shook his head again, “I won’t … can’t … go through another year or more years like the last one.” Glancing off into the distance, his mind flashed to the panic and crushing hopelessness at seeing the crater that was Bobby’s house and the fear that the older man was gone. “I won’t do it again.”

Looking up from the small pile of cheese he was grating, Sam nodded. “I get it. What do you want to do?”

Dean laughed slightly, “I want to watch football, win the $5 bet I have with you, and eat some pizza.” Sipping his water, he added, “And then solve this ghost problem, kill Dick, and then we’ll talk about how to spend Bobby’s money and get out alive.”

Sam laughed, nodding, “Sounds good. I’m in favor of all that.” Dumping the cheese on the pizza, he added some extra pepperoni and slid it into the oven. Wiping his hands on the towel, he leaned against the counter and eyed his brother for a moment before saying, “We’ve both given enough, we can back off for a bit, take a break, and let other hunters take over for a while.” 

He nodded, “Yeah. Maybe we can just take over Bobby’s knowledge hub for people, god knows you’re good enough with the research.”

“You’re not slouch in that department yourself,” Sam added, smiling slightly. “Kind of fitting, actually, if we took it over.”

Sipping at his water, he nodded slightly. “Almost as much of the family business as hunting was with Dad,” he said quietly. 

Sam smiled, “Yeah.”

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memories, Dean stood up and coughed again, “But first we need to get you healthy, solve the ghost problem, and kill Dick. Then we can talk about where we go from there.” He grinned, “I’m voting for some nice beach, some little town down in Florida. We’ve spent enough time in the cold and gloom and crappy, slightly moldy hotels. I want to be warm, in the sun, and clean.” Glancing at the clock, he said, “Come on, Sammy, game’s about to start.”

Pushing off from the counter, Sam laughed, “I didn’t think you wore shorts, man.”

“For the right beach, I’d make an exception,” he said, glancing at his brother and grinning. 

Laying in bed that night, Dean tried to shut off the flood of memories rushing through his mind. The dark, endless nights after Sam’s death and almost sleep walking through the days with Lisa and Ben, going through the motions and putting on an act of calm acceptance and appropriate mourning. Even then, during that year, he had known he was faking it but had held out hope that, like so many times in his life, the act would eventually become seamless and help heal the gaping hole left by Sam’s absence. That year’s Super Bowl had been spent at a neighbor’s house, multiple TVs set up, good food laid out for people to grab and lots of people. He had smiled and laughed, fetched food for Lisa like a good boyfriend, kept half an eye out on Ben running in and out of the house with the other kids, and engaged in friendly debates over past games, teams, and players. And spent the entire evening wishing he were in some crappy hotel room with Sam and takeout pizza and beer like they had done so many other times. With a quiet sigh, he got out of bed and padded out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Dean glanced up and smiled at his brother two hours later. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Sam said, coming into the living room and flopping down on the sofa. “I just woke up.” 

“You should go back to bed,” he said, glancing at the clock and seeing it was past 1:00am. “I’m fine, just watching a movie.”

Settling back against the cushions, Sam yawned, “Sounds good.” Watching the movie for a moment, he asked, “What is it?”

“North by Northwest,” he said. “Go back to bed, Sam, I’m fine. Just not tired.”

Ignoring him, he put his feet up on the large padded ottoman and nodded, “Haven’t seen this in ages. We watched it in school.” He yawned again and smiled, “Got to love Cary Grant.”

Dean glared at him before getting up and grabbing a blanket from a shelf under the TV. Tossing it to his brother, he said, “If you’re going to insist on being out of bed, at least make sure you don’t get cold.”

Sam laughed, “Dude, the heat is on, I’m fine.”

“Those are the rules, Sammy. Blanket or bed, one or the other,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he sat back down. He smiled, kicking at his brother’s foot with his own as he put them up on the ottoman. “Don’t make me break out my Big Brother Voice. I spent enough time raising you, laying down the law, and enforcing it, I can do it again.”

Sam laughed, “Fine.” Spreading the blanket out, he made sure both of their legs and bare feet were covered. He glanced at his brother, silently daring him to comment before settling back against the cushions with another yawn. “I use to sit up and wait for you and Dad to come home from hunts,” Sam said quietly 10 minutes later. “I’d keep most of the lights off and sit on the sofa or at the table or something with my book or homework and wait until I heard the car.” He glanced at his brother, adding, “I couldn’t sleep until I knew you both were home, safe but as soon as I heard the car, I’d run into my bedroom and pretend to be asleep. As soon as I heard both of your voices, heard that you were OK, I could fall straight to sleep.”

Glancing at him, Dean nodded, “I know the feeling. Once you left for college, it took me months to fall asleep unless I was dead tired. I worried about you, out there alone, unprotected.” He shook his head, “Dad worried, too.”

He swallowed, nodding, “Yeah. He told me that, too. I’m sorry I worried you guys, I didn’t think that would happen.” 

Dean snorted, “I know, man but yeah, we both worried. I get it though, you needed to go do your own thing.” He glanced at him and smiled, “But that didn’t stop me from worrying then and it certainly doesn’t stop me from worrying about you now and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

“Thanks,” he said simply.

He nodded, turning back to the movie. “Now if only I can get you to do what I say, go to bed, not harass the ghosts, my life would be easy! You, exactly where you’re supposed to be, doing what you’re supposed to be doing.” 

Smiling slightly, he kicked his brother’s foot, “Old habits and all … can’t sleep unless you know everyone is safe and where they’re supposed to be.” Coughing, he asked quietly a moment later, “So what’s the problem now?”

Focusing on the TV, Dean shook his head and didn’t answer. 

Knowing he couldn’t push, Sam yawned again and turned his attention to the movie. “Rear Window is better,” he said after a minute. “But it’s hard to go wrong with Hitchcock.” 

“The Birds was stupid, like some sort of M. Night Shyamalan twist that’s just there for shock value and the special effects haven’t held up at all.”

Sam nodded, “Except for Sixth Sense, that was a good twist.”

“Yeah, that was good but the rest weren’t,” he said, nodding. “To Catch a Thief, that was good.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that,” Sam said, thinking for a minute. “Maybe … but …”

He laughed, “We’ll keep an eye out for it, it’s good. You’ll like it.” Falling silent again, he smiled as he heard his brother start to snore lightly 10 minutes later. 

Waking up five hours later, Sam blinked and glared at the TV now playing an infomercial for some rotisserie oven. Dean was fast asleep next to him on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, snoring softly. Carefully picking up the remote, he gradually lowered the volume before closing his eyes and falling back asleep. 

OOooOOooOO


	5. Chapter Five

Sam sighed, shoving the large book across the table of the historical society as he said, “Get this, looks like Stuart was telling the truth.”

Looking up from the document copies he was flipping through, Dean pulled the book closer and skimmed the newspaper article his brother was pointing to. “So, Franklin was inspired by the monument they put up at the Arlington Cemetery in 1865 to honor the unknown Civil War dead and did their own the next year.” Skimming the list of names, he said, “And there are two of the Chipmunks, listed as Final Burial Place Unknown and honored on the city’s monument.” He sighed pushing the book back across the table, “Can’t salt and burn them, which pretty means leaves either containment or them moving on themselves as the only two options.”

“And Alexander says he’s got unfinished business and sins to atone for before he moves on,” Sam said. “We can do him and Rory but …” He shook his head, adding, “I hate that idea. Right now, at least, they’re not actually doing anything but giving people minor scares.”

Dean nodded, “But they’re not dangerous and who knows what will happen if we dispatch Daddy Dearest and Rory.”

Looking at the list, Sam said, “Maybe help Alexander at least with the unfinished business? Since the Chipmunks aren’t speaking to him – and according to him – haven’t in years, maybe they all have the same unfinished business?” He nodded toward the book, “They’re recognized here under the last name Galen, even though they enlisted under the name of Cameron.”

“And they are buried with the name of Galen,” Dean said, nodding. “Brodie said he never used that name, something Rory would obviously know. We had guessed that it was either to link them to their mom’s grave and that Cameron would be sort of … known since they were in the Cameron family plot.”

“But maybe we’re wrong about that and it was deliberate insult,” Sam said, interrupting.

Dean nodded, “A deliberate kicking out of the family, sending a clear message that they were no longer Alexander’s sons.”

“Or Rory’s brothers,” he said, swallowing. “Rory said he’s the one that put up the tombstones, so he was the one who picked the names and continued his, their, dad’s banishment of them.”

“That’s pretty cold, man,” he said, shaking his head. Glancing at his watch, he said, “But it’s the best theory we’ve got. The rest of this seems pretty straight forward and they seem OK with not having bodies, so they’re not waiting to be laid to rest because of some hang up over a Christian burial, family plots, last rites or any of that nonsense that other ghosts seem to care about.”

Sam nodded slowly, “Rory said something about being reunited, I figured he just meant by death since they died a good 50 years before him but maybe it was more, deeper. Maybe if we help them and Alexander finish their business? Start speaking to each other again, they’ll move on. I’m guessing that this family … riff or banishment … is Alexander’s sin or at least one of them he’s trying to atone for.”

“Great, we’re now playing therapists for a bunch of cranky ghosts,” Dean said with a quiet snort, shaking his head. “Remember when it was easy and we’d just dig them up, salt, and burn the bones? They’d wink out, we’d move on … now we’re going to … what, Sammy? Sit around the campfire and get them to share their feelings from 150 years ago?” He laughed as his brother smiled at him. 

Grinning, Sam shrugged, “Got me. But I vote for trying that before we recommend several thousand dollars’ worth of iron be laid around the property to try to contain them.”

“Well, right now, I vote for lunch,” Dean said, standing up and closing the books on the table. “Lunch, bookstore, and then you have a doctor’s appointment at 3:00.”

Standing up, he grabbed his bag and shoved their copies back into it. “We have appointments, not just me,” he clarified. “She wants to see you as much as me.”

“I’m fine, totally back to normal, you’re still sick,” Dean said firmly. “Don’t think I’ve missed all the coughing, sniffling, sneezing you’ve been doing.”

“Whatever, man,” he said, dismissively as they walked out of the historical center. “Where to for lunch? The meat and three place again?”

He shook his head, “Nope, trying someplace new. I read about this place that’s supposed to have a great grilled cheese sandwich with pimento cheese and bacon.” Sliding into the car, he added, “And homemade pie.”

“Pimento cheese?” Sam asked, glancing at him as the car pulled away. “Really?”

“South, Sam! We’re in the south, it’s famous here.”

He shook his head, “Not sure that Tennessee and northern Tennessee, especially, is really the south.”

Shaking his head, Dean said, “They have great biscuits, fried chicken, pie, and now pimento cheese. I’m calling it the south and since I eat more than salads, I’m right.” He grinned at his brother, silently daring him to offer another correction. 

Sam laughed, holding up his hands, “Fine, it’s the south and pimento cheese sounds delicious.”

Sitting down in her office chair, Susan Gray swiveled around and eyed them both. “You’re both looking better, for sure,” she said.

Dean nodded, “I’m feeling basically 100% but Sam isn’t even close to that.”

Glaring at him, Sam shook his head, “I wouldn’t say that, at all. No, I’m not 100% but I’m a solid 90% plus!”

Dean shook his head, “No, no way. I’m calling it 70%, tops.” Eyeing his brother, he ticked off on his fingers, “Still not eating enough, still falls asleep during the day if we’re quiet or still too long, still is sleeping a good 10 hours at night, and is still coughing a lot.”

“Dean is still coughing and keeps the same sleep schedule as I do,” he shot back with a raised eyebrow at his brother before smiling at the doctor.

Holding up her hands slightly, Susan smiled, “Well, regardless if it’s 70% or 90%, I’m glad to see you both looking and sounding better.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah. This break has been great. We’re meeting your friend Wednesday to give her the info we have on the house and the ghosts and our suggestions on how to deal with them.”

“Oh good!” Susan said, smiling. “You’ve seen the ghost or did you say ghosts?”

“Ghosts,” Dean confirmed, “four of them.” He shrugged, “But it’s good, we know who they are and talked to them several times.”

Shaking her head slightly, she grinned, “Amazing, I want to hear more about this for sure. I’m so glad you’re able to help her with that situation. I’m sure she appreciates it.” Tapping the folders on her desk, she said, “Even though you both swear you’re fine, I still want to give you both a quick check up. Sam, go ahead and go into Exam Room 1 for me and Dean, you can go into #2 and I’ll be with you both in a minute. There are robes on the tables so take off your shirts and put those on for me.”

Sam nodded, standing up, “If you want to hear more about the ghosts, why don’t you come to dinner this week and we’ll fill you in? Dean’s a great cook.”

He held out his hands, “I’m not sure I’d say great but I can cook. Why don’t you come over Wednesday night? What do you like to eat? We need to go shopping anyway and can pick it up.”

She grinned, “Thanks! And I’m not picky. Dinner for me most nights is yogurt or cereal or something like that.”

“We can do better than that,” Dean said, smiling. 

Knocking on the exam room door a few minutes later, she entered and smiled at Sam sitting on the table. “Just between me and you, tell me how it’s going, Sam,” she asked, going to the sink and washing her hands. 

He shrugged, “OK. I certainly feel better then when we walked, stumbled, in here two weeks ago.”

“Have you thrown up since last week?”

He shook his head, “No and I’m eating, despite what Dean seems to think, pretty normal amounts.” He smiled and shrugged, “He worries.”

Susan laughed softly, “I know. Let’s focus on you though right now, fill me in on how you’re sleeping, amounts, quality, whatever you think is important.”

Sitting at the kitchen island that evening, grocery list started on a pad of paper in front of him, Sam yawned before asking, “What are you thinking about cooking for Dr. Gray Wednesday night, Chef?”

Looking up from the potatoes he just finished washing, he laughed and said, “Not sure. Suggestions?” Passing the potatoes across the counter, he added, “Cut these up for me, please. Like in quarters.”

Leaning over and grabbing the cutting board and a knife from the other side of the counter, Sam nodded. “Your meatballs are really good, maybe just spaghetti and meatballs? Garlic bread? Salad? It’s nice, easy, people can eat as much as they want.”

Dean nodded, “That works. Think you’re up for some spice in the sauce or should we stick to something more straight forward and plain?”

He shrugged, focusing on the potatoes in front of him. “I don’t know,” he said after a long moment.

Studying his brother, he nodded simply before turning back to the onion he was slicing. “Well, I think we’ll just stick with something plain, if it’s OK with you. We don’t know what Dr. Gray likes. How about bread pudding for dessert?”

“Sounds good, I haven’t had bread pudding in years.” Sliding the potatoes across the counter, he said, “Here you go.”

Dean nodded, “Thank you. On the grocery list you’re doing, for the meatballs, just put down meatball stuff and I’ll know what to get. Add a jar of spaghetti sauce, pasta, garlic bread and I’ll look up the recipe for bread pudding and add that later.”

He grinned, jotting down the stuff and adding salad ingredients to the list. “You don’t know the recipe by heart?”

Laughing, he shook his head, “No. I’ve only made it a couple of times. Lisa wasn’t a fan and Ben didn’t care one way or another so I never bothered.” He glanced at his brother, adding, “But I like it and you like it, so we’re making it.” Dumping the cut potatoes in the boiling water, he said, “What do you think the chances are that the Chipmunks will show up tomorrow?”

Sam shrugged, sighing, “No clue. They don’t seem to follow a schedule and it seems hit and miss if they come when we’re out there or not.”

“Yeah but I do think they’re curious about us, which should help and encourage them to show up,” he said. “We’re hitting the movies tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I looked earlier on my phone and thought we’d catch the 12:40 show. That gets us back around 3:15 or 3:30, but gives us time for lunch too, beforehand.”

“And a nap in the afternoon,” Dean said firmly. “You missed today and don’t think I haven’t been seeing you yawning all evening. You’re not skipping tomorrow, too.”

Sam glared at him, “Give me a break, Dean! I’m not four, I don’t need a nap in the afternoon.”

Smirking at him over his shoulder, he said, “I don’t know, man, someone seems a bit cranky tonight.”

“Bite me,” he shot back, shaking his head. 

Turning around so he was facing his brother, he shrugged, saying, “Hey, don’t blame me, blame Dr. Gray. She specifically told you to keep doing what you’ve been doing and that includes naps.” Glancing at the oven timer, he said, “While you stew over that, why don’t you set the table? Dinner will be ready in about 5 minutes.” He turned back to the stove and grinned as he heard his brother curse under his breath but still get up and move into the kitchen to get the plates. 

“No singing, no dancing,” Sam said coming into the living room after cleaning the kitchen from dinner. 

“No kidding,” Dean said, laughing and smiling as the other man plopped down on the sofa next to him. Flipping through the guide, he said, “What do you feel like? Movie? PBS? Law & Order, I’m sure that’s on somewhere …”

“Whatever,” he said, trying to suppress a yawn. Sensing his brother’s quick glance his way, he shook his head, “Don’t even, Dean.”

“What?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound indignant. “I wasn’t saying anything.”

“Yeah, right,” he shot back. “Just pick something. Law & Order is good, if you can find it.”

Knowing his shouldn’t tease the other man but also unable to resist, he chuckled, “Cranky.” Laughing, he jerked his feet away as Sam kicked him. “Oh! Apollo 13, that was good.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, that works. Tom Hanks is always good.”

“Six degrees of Kevin Bacon,” Dean agreed, nodding. 

“We played that at college,” Sam said a moment later, glancing over to judge the reaction of the slightly forbidden topic of conversation. “It was a drinking game, I sucked at it.”

Dean laughed, “Which part, Sammy? The movie trivia or the drinking?” He smiled, shaking his head, “You were never good at either.”

Kicking at his brother again, he laughed, “Both. Not really my thing but it was fine.” He shrugged, “You learn to go with group, how to fit in. We both know how to do that.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Years of always being the new kid, the strange new kid, taught them both early the power of sliding in and trying to blend with the other kids, and not draw attention to themselves, when they needed to. It could be tiring and annoying but they both learned quickly how to do it well, when they wanted. 

“You would have been great at it,” Sam continued. “You would have cleaned up.”

He laughed, glancing at him, “Easier than playing pool? Bet some rich college dude I can … what? Connect anyone to Kevin Bacon in the smallest number?”

“Exactly,” Sam said, smiling. “And yeah, much easier than pool and much less likely to end in a fist fight or blood.” Nudging his brother’s foot again, he added, “Thanks to you, I stood up for this girl I liked at a bar a few months after I started, took out this jerk who was bothering her in like two punches and he never laid a hand on me.”

“Way to go,” he said, nodding. “Was she impressed?”

He laughed loudly and shook his head, “No. I think she was horrified but …” Shrugging, he said, “I did get to drink for free that night. The bar never carded the drinkers, just who was ordering.”

Dean snorted, “So what was that? Two beers?”

Sam laughed again, setting into the cushions slightly, “Probably. I don’t remember. You know what I do remember though?”

“What?”

“Thinking how proud you would have been and how much I wish I could have told you.”

Dean looked at him for a moment, “You know you could have called me, at any time, right? I wouldn’t have told Dad; you could have trusted me.”

Coughing slightly, he shook his head, “It wasn’t that, man and yeah, I knew I could have called you. And I know if I had and needed you, you would have been there, regardless of Dad.”

“Damn straight,” he agreed. Flashing back to the final fight between their father and Sam, pacing between his brother’s bedroom and the living room, glancing at the door John had stormed out of, half wanting the other man to appear and give some semblance of an apology and half dreading him showing back up for Round 2. He swallowed, looking back at the TV and pushing down the memories. “What was it then?” he asked quietly, a long minute later. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I knew I’d crumble and you’d see through any lies I told you and you’d show up and I’d go with you,” he said quietly, shrugging. “The pull of this life, no matter how much I want or wanted to resist it … it’s too strong, it’s too engrained in who I am.” He hit his brother’s foot with his, causing the other man to look at him, “Hell man, it took … what? A 20 minute conversation with you just telling me Dad needed help and you telling me you wanted my help, for me to ignore Jess and jump back in the car with you? Getting out of the car, when you dropped me off at our apartment, was so hard. It took sheer will power to force myself to do it. I remember going in and smiling and if … if Jess had asked what I was smiling about, I would have lied to her, like I had lied to her for two plus years about who I was, and told her I was just happy to be home. And yeah, I was happy to be home but I was happy because we had fun together and worked a fun, good job, and seemed to click. I felt like we had sort of … gotten over this hump or something and it might take a little bit of time but I’d call you in a week, you’d call me back, maybe Christmas break or Spring break, maybe another quick fun hunt over some weekends …” His voice trailed off, shrugging again as he said, “I don’t know.”

“I thought you were happy to get out of the car,” he said quietly. “You seemed sure and like you sort of resented me for even asking.”

Sam smiled, “I did resent you asking but sort of like an alcoholic resents being asked if they want a drink. It’s so hard to say no and it’s hard for me to face that about myself. For all the bitching and fighting and struggle to get out, crap you put up with from me and from Dad on my account, to admit that I wanted back in … How do you admit that, when your whole life seemed to resolve around conflict that you were causing, struggling to get out? How do you say ‘Nope! Never mind! I was wrong! Take me back!’” He shook his head, “I was happy to get out and did resent you asking but only because of what it said about me.”

“Huh,” he said, nodding once before looking back to the TV. 

Watching him for a moment, Sam smiled slightly, seeing the host of emotions flash across his brother’s face. He settled lower on the cushions and sighed slightly, yawning again. 

Without saying anything, Dean reached over and dragged the blanket they had used the night before from behind the couch and tossed it on his brother. “You look cold,” he said firmly. “If you won’t go to bed, despite how tired you can, at least stay warm.”

He smiled and shook out the blanket before settling back against the cushions. “Thanks,” he said.

Dean snorted slightly, leaning back and adjusting his feet on the ottoman. “Someone has to watch out for you.” 

Sam laughed softly, “If we haven’t killed each other yet, despite everything, I think we’re stuck with each other at this point.” He grinned as his brother snorted, shaking his head but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the movie.

OOooOOooOO

“Rory! Brodie! Stuart! Alexander!” Sam yelled, standing at the edge of the parking pad the next morning. 

“Here ghosty ghosty ghosty!” Dean yelled, glancing at his brother and grinning. He shrugged as the other man shot him a look. “Don’t be looking at me like that, who knows what they respond to. This was your bright idea, not mine. I voted for just starting to dig and see if that got their attention.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. After kicking around ideas the last couple of days, they had decided to see if they could get anyone to talk to them upon request. Ten minutes later, he sighed, glancing around the empty fields and tree line. “Ouija board?” he asked. “I got through to you that way.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shook his head. “We’re not at a sleep over, Sam.”

He laughed, glancing at the house behind them, saying slowly, “Well … movies, pizza …”

Dean laughed, hitting him lightly, “No! We’re on a job! Until we start braiding hair, it’s not a sleep over. I vote for shovels.”

Pulling his phone out and glancing at the time, he shrugged. “Tell you what, how about I go in and get us some coffee and we sit out here and wait and see what happens. It’s barely 9:00, maybe they’re just not up yet.” 

He laughed, “Well, old people do sleep in sometimes. Coffee sounds good and grab another muffin for yourself, I saw how little you ate at breakfast.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, recognizing the almost automatic comment from his brother, Sam glanced around the empty fields once more before heading back inside. Juggling two mugs and a plate a minute later, he sat down by the fire pit, “Here you go.”

Dean eyed the muffin as he sat down, “Good, thank you.”

“Some place new for lunch or back to one of your favorites,” Sam asked, breaking off a bit of the muffin and popping it into his mouth.

“Not sure,” he said, stretching his legs out and taking a sip of coffee as he scanned the fields. “What do you feel like?”

He snorted, “You’re making me eat a muffin. I’m not going to feel like lunch, Dean.”

“In three hours, Sam,” he said, “That little place we went to yesterday had soup with their grilled cheese and sandwiches.”

“Soup sounds good, let’s just go there,” he confirmed.

Glancing at him, he said, “And a sandwich.” He laughed at the other man’s rolling eyes before saying, “Oh don’t even, Sammy … and we’ve got incoming.” Nodding at the far woods, he said, “Looks like the Chipmunks but still no sign of Alexander.” Taking a sip of coffee, he stayed in his seat and watched the mist cloud slowly advance across the field toward them. “Morning boys!” he called from his seat, toasting the cloud slightly with his mug before taking another sip.

Sam glanced at him before settling back in his chair and eating another bite of muffin. “Good morning,” he said, smiling slightly and waiting to see what they would do.

“Not too talkative this morning,” he said, glancing over and shrugging. “Maybe hung over?” Grinning, he added, “Trust me, I understand that! All you want to do is sleep and you’ve got an annoying brother or, in your case, two, bugging you to get up and do stuff.”

Sam laughed, “Gee, thanks, man.” Turning more serious, he leaned forward, saying, “But we do get it. We’re bothers, we’ve had our share of bad, bad, fights. We know how that can happen and how it can really feel like an insurmountable barrier. Throw in parental drama and … it’s a mess for sure.”

Forcing himself to stay casual and not even glance at the dark holes his brother’s words caused in his memories, Dean nodded. “You three have clearly mended fences. Did it take a while? How did you do it?” Nodding at Sam, he said, “We usually did it by remembering that we’re stronger together and in truth, I always come back to the cold hard fact that no one has my back like he does.”

He smiled, “And no one has my back like he does. I bet you all realized that, too. Right?” Watching the cloud shift and shimmer slightly in the still air, he held his breath.

Suddenly forming into three columns and then the three ghosts, Rory nodded. “Yes.” Exchanging glances with his brothers, he nodded again, “I regretted how we left almost immediately but was too prideful, too stubborn, to admit it for many years.”

“But we understood,” Brodie said, nodding. “We, too, were prideful and stubborn but when he needed us, even after many years, we came willingly and with full forgiveness.”

Stuart nodded, smiling slightly, “If you cannot count on your brothers to forgive your sins, who can you count on?”

Rory laughed, smiling at him. “Just as I forgave theirs and we are stronger for it.” Motioning toward the woods, he said, “I even offered to make amends, to correct the final insult I gave to their memories when I memorialized them but their forgiveness was so great, it was no longer an issue.”

Glancing at Rory, Stuart said, “It was no longer important and seemed improper. It had been 10 years at that point and, as we told you then, not what you should be wasting your money on when there were taxes to be paid, cattle to be fed, workers to be taken care of.”

Brodie laughed, “Stuart was always much more miserly then I.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “As the second son, I wasn’t set up for life!”

The older ghost laughed, “For life? That turned out to be rather pointless, didn’t it?”

Despite the subject matter, Sam laughed at the exchange, smiling at them. 

“But you won’t forgive Alexander’s sins?” Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Sam looked at them, “Do you hold him to a higher standard?” Shrugging, he said, “It’s easy to do, he was Dad, after all.”

Rory said firmly, “He and I did not part on the best of terms. Even though I was granted leave and arrived before he died, we were unable to settle our differences even in the final hours.” He shook his head, “And then, 10 years later, when I reached out to him, when I begged him for his help, he did not come.” Motioning toward his brothers, he said, “But my brothers did.”

Reaching out, Stuart smiled slightly at him, “You knew we were there, had been there. How could we leave you alone at your son’s grave and not try to comfort you? He was our nephew, you are our brother. How could we not bring you the little peace we could?”

Sam glanced at his brother, before saying, “Alexander told us he has much to atone for. Maybe not helping you when your son died is one of those things?”

Brodie gave a harsh laugh, “Yes, I would assume so. But, atonement may only be achieved by admitting wrongdoing and that is something that Father has never been capable of. If Mother was incapable of convincing him during her lifetime, then I hold out no hope for him.” Motioning toward his brothers, he said, “We have found mutual atonement and peace because our love for each other is greater than pride. Father loved his control, power, and obedience.” He sighed, “And that is all I have to say on the matter.” Fading out, he disappeared. 

Bowing his head slightly, Rory said, “Gentlemen.” He looked at his other brother before also disappearing into a faint cloud of mist.

Stuart glanced up to the tree line and sighed. Smiling slightly, he held out his hands, “And once again I am the peacemaker between the world and my two older brothers who are as stubborn, in their own ways, as our father. We have talked about this for many years and made many attempts, to no avail. I have come to realize that peace may be found many ways and one of those ways is knowing when to simply stop trying and accept what simply is.” Bowing his head, he said, “Good day.”

Sitting back in his chair, Sam sighed softly. “I feel for them,” he said after a long moment.

Dean glanced at him and nodded, “Yeah but I think they’re OK. They seem … content, at least. They have each other and aren’t roaming around wailing and rattling chains and making a fuss over Alexander’s issues.” Sipping at his coffee, he eyed the other man, feeling the tug of memories and old issues that threatened to come to the surface with the ghosts’ words. “Don’t go down any dark holes,” he said quietly, kicking at Sam’s feet stretched out in front of him. “Dad wasn’t anything like Alexander, we’re nothing like them.”

He sighed, nodding slightly, before saying, “Yeah. Dad helped us, we didn’t even have to ask.” Glancing at Dean, he added, “In Wyoming, you know? He came charging out of the gate, ready for a fight, after going through who knows what to get there, to get out, before we closed it.” Swallowing, he shook his head again to help rid himself of the nightmares he had afterwards about shutting the devil’s gate moments earlier and trapping their father in hell and then, later, of Dean banging on the closed gate, begging to be let out. Feeling his stomach twist, he swallowed hard and shuddered slightly. 

Standing up quickly, recognizing the flash of emotions and memories across his brother’s face, Dean motioned with his hand, “Let’s go, get up. You look cold and I’m cold and we’re done here. We clearly can’t do anything to help these guys and I’m sick of trying.” Motioning with his hand again, he said, “Up, Sam. Let’s go, we’re going in.” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, standing up and taking a shaky breath as he pushed away the memories. Picking up his mug and the plate with the half eaten muffin, he followed Dean into the house. 

“Keep the muffin and go into the living room and finish it up,” he ordered, taking the mug. “You shouldn’t have any more coffee, either. I’m sure it’s not good for your stomach.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “You probably don’t need any more coffee, either. Maybe pour some of that cider, if we still have some, and come play cards with me.” Taking another breath and trying to lighten the mood, he said, “I’m sure you’re looking for some payback after the last beating I gave you.”

Recognizing the attempt, Dean readily lobbed it back to his brother and snorted, shaking his head. “Beating? You’re delusional. Maybe we need to check your temperature and see if you’re running a fever or something, Sam. It wasn’t even close to a beating … you won by maybe one game, two, tops!”

Sam grinned and held up a full five fingers, “Read ‘em and weep, man. A full five games.”

Grinning, Dean held up a single middle finger and then laughed at his brother’s expression. “Grab the cards and start shuffling, I’ll get your drink and be in there in a second.” Nodding, he said, “And don’t think I won’t be cutting the cards, so no stacking the deck!”

Thirty minutes later, Sam groaned as his brother laid down his sets for the third time in a row. “Dude! Again!” Pushing his cards toward the other man, he shook his head, “Hubris gets you every time.”

Dean laughed, “Gets you, Sammy. Hubris loves me. It appreciates my sense of style and good humor.”

He laughed, kicking his brother under the table, “Yeah, right. OK, deal, we’ve got time for one more hand, make it a good one.” Leaning back, he coughed once before stretching and yawning. “I hope the movie is good.”

“Harry Potter fights ghosts in a haunted house,” Dean said, shuffling the card quickly before letting Sam cut them. “How bad can it be? Plus, popcorn and licorice.” Dealing out the cards, he settled back in his chair, studying them. “Speaking of which, we need to stop on the way so I can pick some up.”

Taking a card from his hand and picking up the face up card, Sam nodded. “I think, if we’re stopping anyway, I want some M&Ms. I haven’t had those in a while and I’m sort of in the mood.”

Dean nodded, knowing better than to act too pleased or surprised by the request, “OK.” Drawing a card, he put it in his hand and discarded another one, chuckling slightly. 

Sam glanced at him, frowning. “You better not be close to going out, man.” Drawing a card, he quickly flipped it face up on the discard pile where his brother quickly took it. He sighed, shaking his head, “I swear …” 

He laughed, “It’s like a classic Greek tragedy. The proud, young hero brought low by the sin of hubris.” Watching his brother draw and discard a card, he laughed again as his brother groaned dramatically. Drawing his own card, he said, “This is a good way to spend the morning. I’m glad you suggested it.”

Sam smiled, “Yeah, it is. And it’s going to be a good day, too.”

“A good week,” he said, nodding. “We’re meeting with Marion tomorrow …”

“Marie,” Sam corrected, drawing a card and adding it to his hand before discarding a different one. 

Ignoring him, he continued, “Give her the info on the ghosts and see what she wants to do and then having Dr. Gray over for dinner to thank her for everything the last few weeks. Once Marion … Marie … tells us what she wants to do, we can take care of it for her.” Picking up and discarding his card, he said, “Then maybe look around the area and see if there are other ghosts or things to hunt? What do you think?”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know. I feel like we need to figure out what’s going on with Frank and if he’s gotten anywhere with those numbers Bobby gave us.”

“In the vein of the sharing and caring thing we’ve got going on here, you want to know something?” Dean asked, glancing at his brother quickly and giving a half smile.

He laughed lightly, “Sure.”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m not sure how much I care anymore. I know I should, I know we should, and I know I should want to take out Dick and stop these things but …” His voice trailed off as he focused on the game and his cards for a moment, drawing and quickly discarding it. “I’m in no hurry right now, either. I’m just tired and …” His voice trailed off as he swallowed, shaking his head.

“I get it,” Sam said nodding after a long moment when it was clear Dean wasn’t going to say anything else. “Then we don’t worry about it. We can either hang out here for a while, maybe start paying Marie rent for this place or maybe head down to Florida and get some sun. You said you were sick of the cold and gray and sun and warm sounds good to me, too.” He yawned and drew a card and then grinned, “And that will give me time to continue in my domination at this game.” Laying down his completed sets, he laughed, “Read it and weep.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head as he said, “Domination, give me a break. You’ve won once this morning! Domination? Try a Hail Mary to prevent utter humiliation, especially since I was only one card away from winning.” Laying out his cards, he grinned as Sam made a face. “Almost …”

“Almost meant something but too bad it doesn’t,” Sam countered quickly and then laughed, jerking away as his brother kicked him. Gathering up the cards, thinking about his brother’s words, he nodded and glanced up. “I think looking at some sort of retirement, career shift, something, is a great idea. I’m feeling done too. This was too close, for both of us.”

Settling back in his chair, he nodded, “Yeah.” He coughed and the stood up, smiling, “Grab your shoes and let’s get going, Sammy. I can hear some pimento cheese calling my name.”

He laughed, shoving the cards into the box. “Maybe hearing voices from pimento cheese is something we should mention to Dr. Gray tomorrow.” 

Walking into the theater, Dean glanced over his shoulder, “We need to make sure that wherever we settle has a good theater like this. I feel like I’ve been spoiled for life now.”

Sam laughed, following him about halfway up and settling into their seats. Leaning back, he grinned as the footrest came up easily and the chair reclined just slightly. “Yeah, it’s going to be hard to go back to crappy 1980s seating with sticky floors and shot springs.”

“And no place to put the popcorn,” Dean said, putting the tub down between them. Nudging it slightly toward Sam and tossing him a stack of napkins, he added, “I expect you to help me eat this.”

“I have my M&Ms!” he protested, patting his jacket pocket and the bag tucked in there. 

“And you can have some popcorn, too,” he countered, smiling. “It’s good for you.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head, “In what universe is movie popcorn, covered in salt and some sort of butter flavored oil, good for you?”

“This one,” Dean said, grabbing a handful and popping a few of the pieces into his mouth. “It’s from corn, which is a vegetable and salt is a mineral.” Nudging the bag with his hand, he grinned, “It’s saying eat me, Sam.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed a small handful. “Yeah, we’re definitely telling Dr. Gray that multiple types of food are talking to you now.” Eating a few kernels, he added, “And I’ll be on the look out to see if you start talking back to them.”

Dean laughed, holding up a piece of popcorn and staring at it for a moment before nodding and turning to his brother. “Mr. Corn here says he’s tasty and has the perfect amount of salt and butter.” Popping the piece in his mouth, he grinned.

He laughed as the lights dimmed. “Is that Jimmy Crack Corn?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” Dean countered, laughing as the previews started. Glancing at the other man several minutes later, he knew this was exactly what he couldn’t risk losing again. He and Lisa and Ben had laughed, gone to the movies, shared plenty of jokes, and the normal stupid funny things that all families did. But he was also very aware that he had been partially faking, partially going along with the same determined mindset long drilled into him by their father. In the back of his mind, he knew that he would never be able to pull off that façade again and had no desire to try. 

OOooOOooOO

Gathering their notes and copies Wednesday morning, Dean stacked them neatly before passing them off to Sam to put in his bag. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at the clock. “You said 10:00, right?”

He nodded, taking a last sip of the orange juice before carrying his cup and Dean’s coffee mug into the kitchen. “Assuming there are tables outside, let’s try for one of those,” he called out, putting the dishes in the dishwasher. “Less chance of being overheard.”

Dean chuckled, coming into the kitchen carrying Sam’s satchel. “The lady in Stillwater?” he asked, grinning. “Flipping out at that diner when we were interviewing that guy with the poltergeist?”

He laughed, “Yep.” Shaking his head, he said, “Screeching Satan worshippers!! Satan worshippers!! at the top of her lungs and pointing was not helpful to our cover of FBI agents.” Picking up his bag, he motioned toward the door, “So … hopefully a table outside.”

Nodding toward the chair in the sitting area off the kitchen, Dean said, “Then get your heavy coat, not just the normal brown one you’ve been wearing.”

He made a face, “Want me to get gloves and a hat too, Dean? It’s not that cold out.”

“It’s February, it’s cold enough and keep up the attitude and yeah, I’ll find gloves and a hat for you,” he shot back and then grinned. “I bet you’d look so cute with a matching hat with a pompom and gloves.”

Sam huffed, putting on the coat and walking back to the door. Passing the other man holding the door open, he side-swiped him, hitting him in the stomach, “Jerk.”

He laughed, “Gloves with pretty snowflakes on them, bitch!” Locking the door behind them, he instinctively glanced toward the tree line and the fields behind the house, scanning for mist.

“I didn’t see anything,” Sam said as Dean got into the car a moment later. “I think they said pretty much everything they wanted to say yesterday.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, you’re probably right. They’re in no hurry and honestly, know they hold the cards right now. There’s not a lot we can do without Brodie and Stuart’s bodies.”

“Which we’ll never have,” Sam said as the car pulled away. Yawning, he pulled out his phone and the directions. “OK, head like toward town. The coffee place is kind of near the historical society.”

“Sam? Dean?” an older woman asked hesitantly as they approached the coffee shop. She had been sitting at one of the outdoor tables on the patio but stood up as they approached.

Dean nodded, holding out his hand. “Marie?” When she nodded, he smiled again, “I’m Dean and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your house is fantastic, thanks so much for letting us stay there.”

Shaking her hand, Sam repeated his brother’s thanks. He glanced around before saying, “Why don’t we sit out here? Gives us a bit more privacy to chat.”

She nodded, sitting down. 

“Should I go in …” Sam started, hesitating by his seat when a server stepped out.

“What can I get you folks?” she asked, before reaching up and turning on the outdoor heater near the table. “And this might help,” she added, smiling.

After placing their drink orders, Dean smiled at the older woman. “You have an interesting piece of property for sure.”

She smiled, “Thanks. So you’ve seen … my visitor?”

Dean nodded, “Visitors, actually. Sam and I have chatted with them several times, including yesterday morning.”

Looking between them, she took a deep breath before asking, “Them? More than one?”

Sam nodded, pulling out the family tree, and pointing to the squares he had highlighted as he said, “Yeah. We’ve spoken with Alexander and his son Rory and then two cousins, quasi brothers, who grew up on the property, Stuart and Brodie.” Passing the family tree to her, he let her study it for a moment.

“Alexander is the son of the original property owner, Nathaniel Cameron. Alexander had a couple of sisters, one of which was Martha, who married Broderick Galen. They had three kids before dying when the kids were really young. The three kids moved in with Alexander and his wife and their kids. One big happy family,” Dean said. “We guess, at least, until the Civil War and then things went sour.” 

Pointing to Brodie and Stuart’s squares, he picked up the story. “Alexander owned slaves …”

“Which was common on big farms, even here,” she said, interrupting.

Nodding, Sam said, “Right but he had some sort of change of heart … found religion or philosophy or something and between the 1850 and 1860 census, he freed all his slaves. We didn’t bother figuring out why or when because it didn’t matter for what we were doing, but, if you’re curious, we can give you some tips on how to find the records.”

“Oh, interesting,” she said. Pausing for a moment while their drinks were delivered, she waited until the server was back inside. “But it looks like Brodie and Stuart fought for the Confederacy, if I’m reading your notes correctly.”

Dean nodded, picking up the story, “Yeah. And Rory fought for the Union. Brodie and Stuart were part of the Army of the West, which is Confederate and not to be confused with the Army of West Tennessee, which was Union.” He laughed, shaking his head, “You’d think they’d come up with something a bit more original.”

“Both brothers were killed in 1863, at the Battle of Chickamauga. They were listed as killed in action but their bodies were never recovered,” Sam said. “Rory fought for the Union and returned home and took over the family farm. Alexander died the year after Brodie and Stuart, in 1864.” Pointing toward Rory’s name, he said, “As you can see, he got married, had several kids, lost a grandson in World War I and two kids died young but he had an OK life. He was a farmer, good, comfortable life, and died on the property after a short illness, according to his obituary.”

“Then why is he still there?” she asked. “I can see the two Civil War guys since they weren’t given a proper burial and that causes ghost, at least according to movies. But why Rory and why Alexander?”

Dean took over, “That was our question and we asked them.” He smiled at her expression, shrugging. “From what they’ve said, there was a huge family split at the start of the Civil War, Rory and Alexander for the Union and Brodie and Stuart for the Confederacy. Brodie and Stuart’s birth last name was Galen, they were the sons of Martha Cameron and Broderick Galen but, since they had been raised basically their whole lives with the Cameron kids, their cousins, they used that last name and not their own. They even enlisted under the last name Cameron.”

“We’re not 100% sure what happened, if Alexander told them he was kicking them out of the family or disowning them or embarrassed that they were using his name or if that was just all implied or what, but after they died, Rory had their headstones marked as Galen, basically disavowing them as brothers, demoting them back to cousin status, if you will,” Sam said, sipping at his drink. 

Marie frowned, “How sad!”

“From what they’ve all said, that was the hard line Alexander took once they left,” Dean said. “Ten years go by, Brodie and Stuart are just hanging around as ghosts on the family property, and one of Rory’s sons dies at the age of 10, and something happen between them all. Rory knew that his brothers slash cousins were around, maybe they were making themselves visible or sometimes people can just sense the presence of loved ones still around.” Glancing at Sam, he immediately thought of connecting with his brother after the car accident, when he was hovering between life and death. He didn’t remember it but Sam’s description made it clear that there had been a strong connection.

Sam picked up the story, “Yeah, who knows, but from what they said, Rory called out to his brothers, asking for their help with … something and they came to him and helped. They forgave each other for the fight, for the family divide. Now that they are back together again, back on the family property, they don’t want to leave.”

She sighed, sitting back in her chair, “How sad. To think of the two ghosts just hanging around, watching their brother, feeling this … loss and regret and then able to help him and heal the rift between them.” Sighing again, she smiled slightly, “And now they feel like they’re home and together.”

Dean nodded, “Right.”

“And Alexander feels the same way? Like they are all one big happy family again and he’s not interested in leaving his sons again?” she asked, glancing at them. Seeing Sam’s expression, she laughed lightly, “I’m guessing not.”

Sam shook his head, “No.”

“Or maybe,” Dean said, glancing at his brother and shrugging. “The guys say that Alexander isn’t sorry for what he did, Alexander says he must atone for his sins and that his sons aren’t talking to him and don’t want anything to do with him. The guys say that dad was never really sorry, isn’t sorry now, and they’re done trying to deal with him.” He shrugged again, “So who knows really but we think Alexander’s unfinished business is what’s keeping him here.”

Marie laughed, shaking her head, “Sorry, I know it seems sick to laugh but it’s like … Ghost Family Drama is the same as Living Family Drama, just goes on for eternity.”

Sam nodded, “Right.” Coughing a couple of times and taking a sip of his coffee, he said, “Even if they weren’t willing to move on themselves …”

“Go into the light, if you will,” Dean provided with a grin, pleased when the older woman laughed softly.

“We can often do it for them,” Sam continued. “Unfortunately, we can only do that with Rory and Alexander.”

“How do you do that?” Marie asked, glancing between them. “Or do I not want to know?”

“Eh,” Dean shrugged, “it’s not that bad. We just dig them up, pour salt on their bones, and then set them on fire. Brodie and Stuart though are missing and their bodies were never recovered or at least not identified.”

She made a face, saying, “That’s bad enough! And it seems sad to send Rory on his way and leave the brothers alone again.”

Sam nodded, “And right now, they’re not really bothering anyone. They’re not interested in the house, they’re just sort of … there.”

Glancing at his brother for a second, Dean said, “We have an option though, if you want them to stop coming anywhere near the house and near your guests.” When she nodded, he said, “Ghosts can’t cross iron. You could do a nice decorative iron fence all around the property line or add an iron strip to the existing fence you’ve got now. Put it up to the tree line, around the driveway and whatnot, completely enclose the house. Any place you don’t want a fence, you lay strips of iron. The strips don’t have to be wide … a couple of inches will do it, just embedded in the ground. They won’t be able to cross over it and you’ll create a nice ghost free zone.”

“And that won’t hurt them?” she asked.

Sam shook his head, “No, not at all. And like we said, they’re not aggressive and they’re sorry for scaring you or your guests. They just want to be home and they consider the property their home. My guess is that even if the iron fails in a few years, they will have learned their boundaries and won’t get too close.”

“The other option,” Dean said, smiling and taking a sip of his coffee, “is to embrace their presence. Advertise the grounds as haunted, give their story, let people see the graveyard and make some money off it. You could even do tours in the summer or Halloween.” He laughed softly, smiling. “And they’re actually kind of nice guys, you might be able to get them to appear on cue and really blow people’s minds.”

Marie laughed, shaking her head. “We’ll see about that but Option One might be the easiest.”

“If you go with Option Two,” Dean said with a smile, “just stay away from two guys with the website called Hell Hounds or Ghostfacers. They’re idiots.”

Sam nodded, “Obnoxious idiots.”

She nodded, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her coffee. “Well, at least I now know what I’m dealing with.” Grinning she added, “And confirmation that I’m not crazy.”

“And knowing is half the battle,” Dean said solemnly before grinning as Sam glared at him. 

He smiled at her and said, “I have an idea. Dr. Gray is coming for dinner tonight. Why don’t you come too and we’ll see if we can get them to make an appearance? If they do, maybe they’ll talk and you might have better luck getting them to move on.”

Marie stared at him and then glanced at Dean who smiled slightly, nodding. “Oh … wow …. umm,” she said hesitantly. Opening and closing her mouth a couple of times, she finally said, “They’re not dangerous, right?”

“No, not at all,” Dean said, smiling at her. “Plus, Sam and I will be there and we know how to deal with them if they suddenly go rogue or something.”

“Which won’t happen,” Sam quickly reassured her. “But if you think you might want to talk to them, doing it for the first time with us there, might make it easier.”

She looked between them again and nodded slowly. “I appreciate the offer and see what you’re saying but I’m not sure I’m ready for that, yet.” Sipping at her coffee, she smiled slightly, “Can I call you this afternoon and let you know?”

Sam nodded, “That would work and no pressure. If you do want to come, why don’t you come around 5:00. This way it’s daylight out for a good hour and that gives us plenty of time for them to make an appearance.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Day time is good, certainly not doing this at night.”

Dean laughed, “Smart.”

“Come on in,” Sam said, opening the backdoor wide just before Susan Gray knocked, Marie standing next to her looking very nervous. “Perfect timing.” 

She grinned slightly, “We left just after 5:00 to make sure we had plenty of daylight.”

Dean laughed, glancing out the window and seeing the growing twilight. “Yeah, we should be good for 45 minutes or so. Plenty of time to see if they want to chat.” 

Sam slipped on his coat and tossed Dean his before opening the backdoor again and leading them out to the firepit. Glancing around, he didn’t see anything.

Squeezing her friend’s hand lightly, Susan said, “This is going to be fun. Trust me, like I told you, the boys are professionals.”

“What do you usually do to make them show up?” Marie asked quietly. 

Glancing at his brother for a second, Dean shrugged lightly and then stepped to the edge of the parking pad. “Rory, Brodie, Stuart! We’d like to chat! Can you come out for a minute!” Turning back to the group, he said, “We’ll see.”

Sam motioned toward the chairs, saying, “Why don’t you have a seat? Sometimes it takes them a bit of time to show up.”

Sitting down in one of the chairs, Susan smiled, looking around. “Such a pretty bit of property, Marie. No wonder the ghosts don’t want to leave. How long have you owned it, again?”

Half listening to the women chat, with Sam throwing in the occasional comment and observation, Dean scanned the tree line and the fields looking for any hint of mist or figures. He called out twice more before glancing at his brother and shrugging 30 minutes later. 

Sam nodded, glancing across the rapidly darkening fields and standing up from his seat on the edge of the fire pit. “Sorry, guess they’re not in the mood tonight. You can never tell with a lot of ghosts. Some follow a pattern, some don’t.” He smiled at Marie, adding, “And yours don’t.”

She laughed, seemingly to relax for the first time since they came outside, saying, “I’m not complaining. It would have been interesting but …”

Susan smiled at her, “A bit too much like the Chinese curse of ‘May you live in interesting times’, maybe?”

Marie nodded, “Yes.” She glanced at the two men standing near the firepit and smiled, “I have no doubt as to what you’ve seen but I’m not sure I’m ready to see it again myself. And this time, so up close and personal.” Standing up, she said, “But, since I’ve told you the house is yours at least through the end of month, maybe we can try again later? That gives us another two or three weeks.”

Dean smiled, “Any time. And next time we see them, maybe we can arrange a time and not count on luck.” Holding out his hand, he helped Dr. Gray stand up as well. “Hopefully, dinner will be a bigger success then our ghost hunt.”

“Dean is an amazing cook,” Sam said, nodding. 

Susan patted his arm, “I’m sure it’ll be fantastic and I’m glad to hear that you two will be sticking around for a while.” Trailing behind Sam and Marie, she lowered her voice and said quietly, “You both are looking much better. The break’s been good for you and will keep improving.”

He smiled, nodding, “Yeah, it’s been great. Sam and I have been talking about it and …” His voice trailed off as he watched his brother for a moment saying a moment later, “It’s been good and something we both need.” 

She nodded, “I understand. Not everything can be put into words. Now that you have this little mystery solved, want me to send something else your way?” Passing through the backdoor being held by Sam, she grinned at him, “Thank you.”

“Dr. Gray here was just asking if we were interested in another job,” Dean said, bumping against his brother. 

Sam laughed, “Great! Send it along and we’ll see what we can do.”

Marie glanced over, “Oh! Another haunted house?” She smiled, “I’ll have to keep the competition in mind if I go with Option Number Two!”

Turning on the oven for the bread and two burners on the stove, Dean said quietly to Sam, “Grab the meatballs and sauce from the fridge please.”

“I’ll tell you all about it at dinner but right now, what can we do to help?” Susan asked. 

“We’ve got it,” Sam said, smiling. “You can either sit in here and chat with us or make yourself comfortable in the living room. Everything is already made, just have to do the bread, for the most part.”

Marie smiled, pulling out one of the bar chairs. “Since I’ve never had a chance to meet professional ghost hunters before, I’d love to hear some stories, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Dean laughed, glancing at the oven, “Sam tells the best stories. I’ll cook, you talk, Sam, and I’ll chime in to correct you when you get stuff wrong.”

The other man rolled his eyes but also knew his roll and was happy to play his part. “Sure! Happy to but first what can I get you to drink?” Shooting Dr. Gray a smile, he said, “Unfortunately, no alcohol though in the house right now. Doctor’s orders. We have tea, lemonade, coke, and apple cider.”

Susan nodded her approval, “Good boy. Tea is perfect, thank you.” Pulling out a chair next to the other woman, she sat down, curious about how they would spin their world for a true outsider. Even after so many years as part of the community, she still felt that even she was only shown bits and pieces. 

“I guess my first question would have to be how you got into hunting ghosts?” Marie asked a minute later, sipping at her own tea.

Sam smiled, leaning on the counter, “Oh, easy. Family business. Our dad did it and our mom came from a long line of …. ghost hunters. We were raised to do it.”

“Not that different owning a family restaurant or family store,” Dean said, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. 

Susan nodded, “Or doctors or teachers, lots of those run in families, too. My father and his father were both doctors and that’s what got me interested in it.”

Marie nodded, “True. So … what’s the scariest ghost you’ve run into?” She laughed, “And I tend to think maybe your definition of scary and mine might be a little different.”

Sam laughed, glancing at his brother. “What do you think, Dean? That house in Houston? New Paltz? Bloody Mary? That town just outside of Helena and those three kids?” he asked. His mind instantly flashed to others … Ellicott, Holmes, ghost demons that inhabited Cold Oaks … Pushing those memories down, he smiled slightly refusing to get into those situations that still haunted his own nightmares. 

Watching his brother’s expression, Dean knew exactly what he was thinking as his mind touched on some of the other ghosts they had encountered and the damage done. Taking the safe, family friendly route, he nodded, “New Paltz for sure. That little girl … and the doll …” He gave an exaggerated shudder and smiled. “Stuff of nightmares, for sure!”

Susan laughed, watching them and seeing something pass between the two men, guessing at all the untold stuff they had seen. If they were willing to discuss whatever happened in New Paltz, she was sure it was funny, creepy enough to impress Marie, but caused no real harm. “New Paltz New York?” she asked. “Such a pretty town, hard to imagine much going on there besides some crazy frat parties thrown by kids.”

Sam laughed, “Well, this didn’t involve those kinds of kids. This kid, a little girl, killed her whole family but it was interesting how we figured it out. Get this … picture an old family painting...”

Stirring the sauce and meatballs, Dean smiled, listening to his brother tell the story. Shaking his head slightly, he listed to Sam turn their cemetery tour into a slightly quirky scavenger hunt, gloss over the finding of the woman with her head sliced mostly off, and turn the final terrifying showdown in the house into a slightly slapstick routine, filled with flying paper, lack of salt, and sliding desks. “I think you have a second career in fiction writing, Sam,” he said with a laugh as the story wrapped up.

“Yes!” Marie agreed, nodding. 

“This is about ready,” Dean said, glancing at his brother. “Will you grab the salad from the refrigerator and it might be easier to just serve the hot stuff from the stove, if everyone is OK with that.”

Susan stood up, “Of course! We’re all friends here, no sense standing on ceremony.” Going around the counter, she grabbed a plate and passed it to Marie. “My story is going to pale in comparison to yours, Sam. Thank you very much!” 

He laughed, shrugging. “But only because yours doesn’t have an ending yet. Once Dean and I figure it out, we’ll let you tell it with the ending.”

She smiled, “Deal!”

Sliding into his bed that night, Dean asked, “Thoughts on Dr. Gray’s story about Bon Aqua and the potential location of the Fountain of Youth?”

Looking up from his book, Sam shrugged, “I guess it’s possible. Did Dad’s journal ever say anything about the Fountain of Youth?”

“I don’t think so but I’ll check tomorrow. It might be interesting though,” he said, picking up his own book. “Nice change of pace, at least. Be good to investigate something that doesn’t want to kill us. Might just be another wishing well, like that one in the Chinese restaurant in Washington.”

Sam nodded, “Could be, but hopefully minus the suicidal teddy bear.”

“Or the homicidal bride to be,” Dean said dryly. “Whatever it is, might be a good road trip Friday or over the weekend.”

Sam laughed, putting a piece of paper in his book to mark his place. “Gives you time to check out restaurants on the way there. We need to go to the bookstore too, I’m almost done with my book. We probably should check in with Meg and see how Cas is doing and if there’s been any change. I also had a missed call from Garth but he didn’t leave a message so I figured tomorrow was good enough. If he really needed something, he’d call back.”

“OK, we can call them both tomorrow,” he said, glancing at his brother. “I’m glad we’re staying around here for a bit. It’s been … good,” he added quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling and nodding. “It has and we deserve good. It gives us time to figure out our next steps and maybe how to beat Dick. And then, once that’s done, what’s the perfect Florida town.”

Dean laughed, “Yeah. Warm, sunny, clean, and safe. That’s going to be us in a few months. We’ve already found some of Dick’s weak spots.”

“I’m looking forward to it, too,” Sam said after a long moment. “Some sort of retirement or at least … something different. Taking over Bobby’s hub is a great plan.”

“And can be done anywhere,” he said, grinning. “Maybe Charleston? Charleston has good pie and plenty of little island beach communities. Plus, if we get bored, there are plenty of ghosts.” 

Sam laughed, “Put it on the list and we’ll check it out.” Turning out his light a minute later, he said, “Night.”

“Night,” he said, turning back to his book. Five minutes later, he smiled as Sam’s breathing changed slightly, indicating he had already fallen asleep. “Yep, this is good and we deserve good for a while. Good and safe,” he whispered. Smiling at the idea, he resumed his reading. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!


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